Locked Crushed
by Kodiak Bear Country
Summary: Sheppard really should listen to McKay. This is just some fun with Sheppard whump and the team.
1. Chapter 1

AN: This is just a bit of fluff fun based off a conversation I had with Parsindy on the Gateworld Sheppard whump thread. The second part will come soon, featuring Sheppard on crutches!

Edited: it took out my spacers, ack! So for anyone previously reading this, it might have seemed disjointed, sorry for that! I didn't preview the document like I should have.

**Locked; Crushed**

Sheppard could think of a lot of things he'd rather be doing. Like playing a game, reading a book, bugging McKay…well, one out of three wasn't too bad. "Rodney, I have to say, as much as I --" he saw Ronon make a face, "-- _we_ enjoy," Sheppard amended, "sitting in this dark and abandoned storage _closet_, you can fix that door, right?"

Through the ghostly light given off by the flashlight that Teyla held steady for McKay, Sheppard saw him straighten, annoyance written clearly across his face.

"It's a door, Sheppard. I'm fairly certain it's within my capabilities." McKay looked thoughtfully at the wires he had pulled. "Maybe."

"I can help," Ronon offered, pulling his space blaster.

McKay's annoyance was quickly transformed into alarm. "Let me say it again, in Ronon speak…shooting door bad. Shooting door make room go boom."

Apparently McKay didn't get that Ronon liked making things go boom as much as Sheppard did, because at seeing the sudden gleam steal across Ronon's face, he rushed to add, "We go boom, too."

Teyla's mouth twitched. "I do not wish to go…boom."

"No one's going to go…boom," Sheppard interrupted, feeling silly for using the same word.

He fanned his jacket against his chest and tried to ignore how stuffy it was in here. They were in a storage room inside a science building, near as he could tell; at least that's what McKay seemed to think was likely. The main doors leading inside had been destroyed by whatever cataclysmic event had either killed these people, or made them leave, but the interior doors seemed to work just fine. They'd wandered in here, the lure of large crates promising possible finds (turns out they were empty), only for the door to shut behind them, locking them in. Speaking of crates…the dusty crate he was sitting on was hard under his butt, and as Sheppard kicked his feet back and forth against the wood, he decided in the future, when exploring alien buildings, they would make sure to leave at least two members _outside_ of doors.

Being locked in was really a bad way to start the day.

"So, I spy with my little eye," Sheppard said, searching with his flashlight. "Something gray."

Teyla looked away from McKay's work. "I spy with my little eye?" she repeated uncertainly. "I do not believe I am familiar with this…saying."

"You don't want to be," McKay huffed. He swore and pulled a wire, yelping and shaking his hand. "God damn it!"

"I'd help you, Rodney, but it's not my area of _expertise_."

McKay stuffed the offended finger in his mouth and glared at Sheppard. "I never said you were incapable…what I said was 'leave the scientist work to scientists."

"And I have," Sheppard said. He made an exaggerated stare at his watch. "For the last five hours – but hey, let me know how that's working out for you."

"Colonel," Teyla interrupted. "Tell me about this I spy?"

Shepard considered pursuing his intentional needling of McKay, but Ronon was lifting a sleepy eyelid his way, and he wasn't going to get into that same argument, _again_. Teyla and Ronon _didn't_ spend more time keeping him and McKay from bickering then actually fighting the wraith. "I spy is a kid's game, but, anyone can play. It's very portable." He kicked his feet against the box, fighting the urge to get up and help McKay. Whether or not he could actually do anything, at least he'd be _doing_. "One person picks something in the room, and then gives a clue. Everyone else has to guess what they are thinking about."

Ronon's eye slid shut. His back was against the same wall as Sheppard, but Ronon was on the floor, sitting with his knees to his chest, arms loosely folded across his knees. Sheppard had hopped onto the crate next to Ronon and sat, swinging his feet.

"Teyla, the light actually helps the most when it's shining on the area I need to see," snapped McKay.

Now it was Teyla's turn to glare. She adjusted the beam without a word.

"So, I spy something gray," Sheppard tried again. "And it's moving towards McKay…"

"What!"

OoO

Ten rounds of I spy later, Sheppard slid off said crate and began to pace. "Maybe it's time to make the door go boom, Rodney." They could hide behind the damn crates. Besides, it wasn't like McKay was sure that using Ronon's blaster would have that effect…and their automatic fire might be enough…

McKay shook his head and muttered angrily, "I've all ready said 'door goes boom, we go boom.'"

Sheppard inhaled deeply, striving to find that calm place…but apparently there wasn't one in this alien storage room, because he was failing miserably. "I want out of this box," he stressed.

"I am sure we all do," Teyla said calmly.

Ronon snorted from behind Sheppard.

Damn it. Nine hours and counting. Rolling his shoulders, Sheppard paced back to his crate and hopped back onto it. He almost offered again to help, but McKay was muttering things under his breath that he'd never heard the man say before, and that was never a good sign.

Sheppard sighed. "So," he said. "I'm thinking of an animal…"

OoO

"That is hardly fair." Teyla pushed the stray hair from her eyes. "You used many Earth animals."

"Did not," Sheppard said, indignant. He waved his head a little and drawled, "The wraith…"

"She got that one." Ronon stood up, limbs cracking. "And you did too."

"Do you mind?" snapped McKay.

OoO

Fifteen hours later, four rounds of Dust Tic-Tac Toe, and no rescue in sight for another nine hours (they'd be overdue then), Sheppard was going stir crazy. He didn't do penned up well. Not this kind, at least. No real danger, just ultimate boredom. And it was going to be embarrassing as hell if they had to wait for Lorne to show up and set them free from a _closet_.

McKay threw his hands up and turned away from the panel. "That's it. I'm officially pissed, and let it be known, I do not often get to this point."

"Give up?" Sheppard asked, peering around at the disgorged panel contents.

"Give up is such a relative term…" began McKay, and when Sheppard tilted his head, he pursed his lips together in disgust. "Fine, go -- kick it, fiddle with it, just don't…" he raised a finger, "shoot it."

Ronon pushed off from the wall and joined Sheppard at the panel. They stared at the mess of wires and Ronon leaned in, murmuring low so McKay wouldn't hear, "I say we blast it."

"That's what I was thinking."

OoO

When Sheppard woke up to Teyla leaning over him, he smelled smoke, felt pain, and thought, "Huh…McKay was right."

"Of course I was right," McKay gloated from somewhere…Sheppard's mind was processing everything in molasses time…the location of McKay's voice, the firm cool surface under his back, the sounds…son of a bitch!

"You're flying my ship!"

Teyla pushed Sheppard back down, but he got up enough to see McKay glaring at him through the open cockpit doors. "It's not your ship. It's…well, I don't know, but we have to _share_." McKay looked thoughtful. "I never was really good at that in preschool; the only bad grade I ever got."

"What happened?" Even as he asked, Sheppard knew he was going to regret it.

"It went boom." McKay had to suddenly pay attention to the controls as the HUD displayed itself and showed the flight path going sharply to the left. After McKay hurriedly corrected, he glared at Sheppard over his shoulder. "Cute, telling your pet ship to tattle on me. Teyla, can't you give him morphine or something?"

"He does not need it, Rodney."

Teyla moved away from Sheppard and that's when the rest of everything caught up.

"Yes, he does," grated Sheppard. At the alarmed looks from both McKay and Teyla, he added self-consciously, "Just a little…you know…to take the edge off."

Because his leg was hurting like hell, and his head… "Hey!" If he'd been unconscious, and his head hurt like this… "You can't give morphine to someone with a head injury!"

"Right," McKay drawled, but this time he kept his eyes on the screen. "And you shouldn't shoot booby trapped door controls. Seeing how you ignored that and almost got yourself killed, maybe a little morphine will do some good!"

"Ronon!" Sheppard struggled harder to get up, and Teyla practically growled at him.

"Stay _down_, Colonel. Ronon is behind you, nursing a similar head injury. You are both very fortunate the explosion was far weaker than Rodney believed it would be."

He could just barely see the hunched, dejected, and dust-covered Ronon resting near the rear of the Jumper. Sheppard gave up looking as soon as he saw enough to know Ronon was alive. So, aside from his headache, his leg…no, his foot…that's what hurt. "What happened to my foot?"

Teyla found something in the med-kit to stare at and McKay cleared his throat, acting as if their lives depended on his ability to stare out the view screen.

"McKay," Sheppard gritted. "The ceiling fell on it, part of the door, what?"

Exasperated, McKay glanced over his shoulder and said defensively, "It was dark!"

OoO

Carson pointed to the three toes on the scanner. "Broken, Colonel…they're actually a mess, I'm afraid, a crushing injury." He stared at Sheppard's bare foot, raised and propped on a pillow, most of it bruised and swollen already. "As much as I hate to be the bearer of bad news, this will not heal fast, nor easily."

"McKay did it," Ronon said, his voice gruff.

"Oh, thank you, Conan." McKay only said it because Ronon was confined to the bed over there, and not close enough to reach.

"Not likely," Carson assured them. "This kind of damage would need more weight than an accidental step would allow, especially considering the boots the colonel wears."

Teyla made a kind of cut-off noise.

Everyone looked at her.

Under the weight of the stares, she rubbed a hand over the back of her neck. "Yes, but if the colonel was not wearing his boots…"

Sheppard's attention rapidly shifted to McKay. "Rodney," he asked, his voice curiously calm. "Why did you take off my boots?"

McKay put on his 'I'm smart, so everything I do makes sense' face. "Because, Colonel, you were going into shock, and your boots fall under 'constricting items of clothing.' Really, it's basic medical care."

"_If_ he had been going into shock." There was a winter like chill in Teyla's voice.

All things considered, it was a good thing that Carson had Sheppard on medication for the pain of a crushed foot, because McKay _was_ in his reaching distance. Still, he tried to keep in mind that McKay _had_ warned him that if they shot the panel, things would go 'boom'. Leaning towards the railing where McKay was hovering, Sheppard said, "I forgive you, McKay. But next time you think something is booby trapped, don't just tell me you _think_ it's going to go 'boom', tell me _why_, otherwise, I'll just assume you're being melodramatic."

McKay had at first looked pleased, then he switched to annoyed, and then… "Melodramatic! I resent that…I am not melo --"

Carson clapped his hands together suddenly. "All right, then, Colonel, it's off to surgery for you…"

"Surgery!"

"Surgery?"

McKay and Sheppard both stared at Carson, one worried, the other appalled.

"Yes, surgery, shut your mouths before you drool, both of you," he scolded. Carson stepped aside to let the nurse in. She started messing with Sheppard's tubing and pulled out a hypodermic.

McKay paled and stepped back. "I…uh…" he patted Sheppard nervously on the shoulder. "Good luck."

"Those bones need to be fixed, Colonel, now be a big lad and it will be over before you know it. Six to eight weeks, possibly some crutches, you'll be good as new."

Ronon chuckled off to the side. "Better make sure those crutches come with a money return…promise…" He narrowed his eyes at his feet underneath the blanket, then he caught Teyla's amused look and said, "That was wrong, wasn't it?"

"Aye," Carson replied, smiling. "Money back guarantee. But that's all right, we get the idea."

"Funny," Sheppard said, sounding anything but amused.

As the drug began to make him sleepy, Teyla leaned in and murmured sweetly, "I spy with my little eye, a sleepy colonel…"

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Wow, thanks so much for the reviews, that was an unexpected treat! Hettie, at the very end you get your treat!

OoO

Waking up in a post-anesthetic haze wasn't nearly as fun as it sounded. Sheppard blinked, and swallowed – cotton mouth. He could hear the monitors beeping, so he knew he was alive, which was always a plus. The queasiness was all ready threatening – the drugs they used to put him under always made him sick. One of these days, Sheppard would break down and ask Carson to just give him the damn anti-nausea drugs before he woke up from surgery.

He supposed he drifted for a while, thankful that he wasn't completely feeling his foot yet, other than knowing it was there and thickly bandaged. Carson had mentioned a cast, but having broken bones before, he knew about letting the swelling go down before putting anything permanent on. That and the fact he had incisions on his toes, foot, whatever.

"Still asleep?"

Sheppard forced his eyes open again, not really sure when they'd closed from before. Carson was staring down at him, a mix of concern and easy humor.

"No, 'm 'wake," he slurred.

Carson smiled in a way that said Sheppard might be conscious but he wasn't quite awake. "The surgery went well." He settled the stethoscope in his ears and pressed the diaphragm against Sheppard's chest, listening. Frowning, he pulled it off. "Be right back, Colonel."

Sheppard hadn't really figured a person could fail at something like that, but he got the impression his lungs or some vital part of him, had. Then again, he was really too tired to care. His eyes closed again, without him giving any permission or thought to it.

'Right back' was a lot faster than Sheppard had thought, because Carson was back, and as Sheppard cracked his eyes enough to see, he could tell the doc had brought reinforcements. "What's goin' on?"

"Nothing to worry about," Carson assured him. "You've got a slight wheeze, not uncommon after intubation. Some medication and oxygen, and you'll be back to rights faster than you and Rodney can settle anything."

"We don' 'gue tha' much," Sheppard protested sloppily, lifting his finger, only to stare at how heavy it was. Oh. That's why. One of those finger pinchy things. He went to pull it off.

"Colonel!"

"Wha'?" He jerked, startled by Carson's squawk.

"Things on your body, stay on your body, until I take them off."

Sheppard glared at him through lidded eyes. "…you don' 'ave to be su…such a…grouch."

The nurse closed in and stuck a mask on his face. That's when Sheppard figured sleeping was definitely better than this waking stuff. Of course, by the time he'd wake up again, the insides of his nose and mouth would be drier than the Mojave Desert. And, he'd kind of forgotten about his stomach…but he remembered now.

He pulled the mask off with clumsy hands, and tried to sit up.

Carson was back over him, frowning, and pushing him down against the gurney. "Colonel Sheppard, son, I realize you tend to be stubborn, but isn't this --"

"Sic'…" he tried to explain.

They got the message. They'd gotten it enough times before when he'd had anesthetic, so the emesis basin appeared in hopes of saving his blankets…well, not really, because that small bowl didn't hold as much as his stomach.

As they started cleaning him up, Carson gave him the anti-nausea medication, muttering, "I wouldn't have thought such a skinny body could hold that much…"

Sheppard's mouth now felt like a desert that had been subjected to acid rain. He rolled his head enough to look at Carson and pleaded, "Jus' shoot me."

The sympathetic look crept back. Until Carson opened his mouth.

"I'll leave that for Ronon; I think he'll be visiting soon."

No one took him seriously.

OoO

Ronon did visit, although he was still in scrubs and a patient himself, thanks to the concussion. Then Teyla and Elizabeth arrived. That was nice. They fed Sheppard ice chips and sympathized over his foot. And Elizabeth only mentioned once that maybe next time he should listen to Rodney.

"I always listen to Rodney," Sheppard defended. Hours after his surgery, he could finally speak and breathe clearly again – and his stomach wasn't rebelling. "Just, some times, I decide to go against his advice. Privilege of command."

Elizabeth fought down a smile. "Which is why the only commanding you will be doing for the next two months will be from a desk, and it will involve reports you owe me."

"Ice chip?" Sheppard asked hopefully, doing the puppy dog look. Anything to switch the topic away from reports. He'd rather pull his nails off. It wasn't like he didn't understand the importance, it was just…his promotion hadn't exactly been standard. He hadn't been sent to the Air Force's Lieutenant Colonel Leadership course, where you learn how to bullshit through paperwork.

Teyla smiled knowingly, but slipped him one.

OoO

McKay was sitting next to Sheppard's bed.

McKay was staring at Sheppard.

Sheppard was getting creeped out.

"What?" he finally snapped.

"What what?" McKay snapped back, his arms folded, feet propped on Sheppard's bed.

Sheppard pushed himself up straighter in his bed, sparing a moment to stare forlornly at his aching foot. Tomorrow was cast day. Tomorrow was crutches day. Tomorrow was 'going to suck' day. "Don't you have a job?"

McKay paused, considered, then replied, unflustered. "Yes."

"Then go do it," Sheppard growled.

"I am doing it."

So. There were times when he wanted to throttle McKay.

OoO

He had an office.

No, seriously, Sheppard had an office. Who would've known? And really, staring at it, Sheppard had to admit it was kind of cool. Two of the walls were glass, like Elizabeth's, and it wasn't far from hers, just on the opposite side of the control room, and up the stairs. She'd even had someone hang pictures of helicopters, Jumpers and other cool planes. There was an SR-71, and then a larger poster of a Global Hawk UAV, a rare one, made before the new paint jobs.

He clunked his way in, still getting used to the crutches. Only two days since he'd been released from the infirmary, and all ready his arm pits hurt. Carson had sighed and lectured he was doing it wrong. Sheppard wasn't supposed to lean on them like that…then Ronon had chided him, taken his crutches, and demonstrated proper technique.

"Show off," Sheppard had muttered.

Just because some people had more practice -- really, no one could blame Sheppard for reminding Ronon of the fact that it took him two times to figure out how to use them.

He lumbered over to his chair, sat down and dropped his crutches on the floor, powering on his computer. Usually, his laptop was in his quarters, but Teyla had carried it here after breakfast for him. She'd suggested he carry a back pack to be more independent, but walking around Atlantis with his back pack on? No thanks.

Once everything had finished booting and loading, he brought up the email program.

Two from Lorne – mission reports.

One from Beckett. He clicked on that.

Subject: foot check  
From: carsonbeckett_at_lantisnetwork.civ.med  
Date: 9/10/2006 10:15 AM  
To: johnsheppard_at_lantisnetwork.af.mil

Colonel Sheppard,  
Your afternoon appointment is in two hours. Don't be late.

Beckett

With relish, Sheppard pushed the delete button. He hadn't forgotten, even though he would rather sit in his office then go have his foot poked at. The cast was open-toed, and he had to wear a very large, stretchy sock over it. But Carson went that route so he could have access to his healing incisions. There were small metal pins in his three toes. As long as he didn't put pressure on his foot, it would heal good enough.

Back to the email…

A handful were from Marines, and skimming them he could tell most of those were requests for mission swapping. There was one from Elizabeth and the attachment was a report he'd filed four months ago. Her note simply said: That's all that happened? Why was Rodney afraid of loud noises for weeks after – complete reports, Colonel. Fix this and resubmit.

Blah blah blah, he thought, as he opened the .doc and minimized it. His foot was aching, and he was getting grouchy. It was going to be a long two months.

One from Teyla…hmmm…Sheppard selected it.

Subject: Twenty questions  
From: teylaemmagan_at_lantisnetwork.civ.athos  
Date: 9/9/2006 11:16 PM  
To: johnsheppard_atl_antisnetwork.af.mil

Colonel, the attachment contains a thorough list of approved material for this game you taught me. Note, Earth items not specifically used between us every day are not allowed. I look forward to our next round.

Teyla

P.s. Ronon wanted me to add Sateda-only items. I said that would be unfair.  
P.s.s – Carson wanted me to remind you to stay off your foot.

The attachment was 217 kb. Jesus. What'd she do, write a dictionary for the Pegasus Galaxy? How'd she get the time to do that?

"Are you actually working?"

Sheppard hurriedly closed the file titled: Twenty Questions – a Pegasus Galaxy guide to appropriate flora and fauna.

"Hi, Rodney. Nice of you to drop by."

McKay sidled over and peered at his screen. "Thought you might want some lunch."

"Is it Athosian meat surprise?" Sheppard asked warily.

"You know what that is, don't you?"

McKay leaned down to grab Sheppard's crutches while he talked. He held them out for Sheppard, who took them gratefully, and used them to pull himself awkwardly out of his chair. When he was finally up, and steady, he said, "No. You do?"

As they headed for the door, McKay said, "You remember that rodent we found on P8H-225?"

Rodent?

"I really…didn't need to know that."

OoO

His check-up with Carson wasn't as bad as he'd thought it'd be. Aside from the teeth-gritting pain of having his incisions poked, and his toes moved just a little so they could be checked for any signs of infection. He admitted he was hurting, and Carson gave him some more pain pills. Sheppard wasn't known for making a big deal of stuff, but it was hard to sleep with all the throbbing. And lack of sleep combined with staring at reports – bad combination.

Ronon dropped by his office and asked if Sheppard had gotten his message about altering the training program.

"No." But just in case, he brought up the email program and skimmed. "Did you put in the right email address?"

Seeing the big guy staring at him blankly, Sheppard tapped his ear piece. "Rodney."

"What?" the irritable voice responded.

"Did you teach Ronon how to use the email system?"

There was a pause, and then, "Do I look like I have time to teach aliens how to use our computers? Try Zelenka." The communication was cut-off. Sheppard grinned sheepishly at Ronon.

"I was just…messing with him."

"Teyla taught me," Ronon offered, knowing that Sheppard wasn't totally just messing with McKay. Just…partially. "Did she do it wrong?"

Sheppard reached for his crutches, figuring he'd take a detour to Ronon's room and see who Ronon had sent the message too. "Between you and me, don't let Teyla teach you anything about our computers. When we first showed her how to use one, she kept trying to talk to it."

It was only as they walked out that Ronon finally asked, "Did McKay just call me an alien?"

OoO

Day four, and if McKay teased Sheppard one more time about how silly he looked moving around on crutches, Sheppard was going to make sure McKay knew first hand how difficult the damned things were to use. And tiring. It wasn't like he wasn't in good shape, still, after going the length of a hallway he was usually ready to take a break, sit, enjoy the sights.

Speak of the devil…here he came.

"What are you --" McKay started to ask as he walked towards Sheppard, when he tripped over the crutches lying on the floor.

It was like one of those slow motion movies. McKay fell forward, his hands extended, and when he hit, it was with a yelp.

Sheppard stared, bemused. "You okay?"

"I'm rolling on the ground, clutching my wrist!" McKay snarled. "That is not okay! Why the hell are your crutches sticking out into the hallway?"

"Because…" Sheppard drifted off. Well, he had been tired! It wasn't his fault if McKay didn't watch where he was walking.

"O wow ow! I think it's broken!"

"Stop being such a baby," scolded Sheppard.

McKay paused in his ranting, still cradling his hurt hand close to his chest, and raked an accusing glare at Sheppard. "Baby? Did you just call me a baby?"

Okay. Maybe that was a little unfair. "Toddler, then," he corrected magnanimously.

"Oh, God," McKay breathed rapidly. "I think it's broken!" He climbed awkwardly to his feet. "Where's a medical team! I can't believe you broke my wrist!"

Sheppard sighed, tapped the radio and called for a medical team, because though he wasn't going to point it out to McKay, his wrist was bent back at a gross angle that probably wasn't normal. "I didn't break your wrist," Sheppard said reasonably after Carson said he was on his way.

There was a thin sheen of pained sweat on McKay's forehead, and he jabbed an accusing shoulder towards Sheppard, seeing how his two hands were occupied. One cradled, the other clutching the injured limb. "Yes, you did, this is _your_ fault – what were you doing, just sitting in the hallway! I wouldn't have tripped if you would've been in your office, and if you'd put your lethal weapons along the wall instead of sticking straight out!"

"You know, for someone who's in a lot of pain, your awfully mouthy," observed Sheppard dryly.

McKay opened his mouth to retort, then snapped it shut and thought for a moment, before reluctantly admitting, "I handle pain differently, that's all. The more I hurt, the more I talk. Just be thankful I'm talking to you at all. Seriously," he emphasized when Sheppard rolled his eyes. "First you completely ignore my warnings and almost blow us up into little atomic pieces, then you trip me, and now I'm going to be in a cast for weeks…what is it with you lately? It's like you're that character…" McKay snapped the fingers on his good hand... "Dennis the menace!" He seemed to appraise Sheppard and murmured, "Now that I think about it, there is a passing resemblance…it's the hair."

"McKay!" Sheppard growled.

Saved by the doctor…arriving with a gurney.

Carson took one look at McKay's wrist and pronounced, "Rodney, you get to join the colonel in modeling our fall cast collection – but first, x-ray, and possibly surgery."

"Surgery?"

"Surgery!"

Déjà vu…

TBC (if you guys want!)


	3. Chapter 3

AN: It's back! Okay, I know, it's been a while, sorry! I've got five fics I'm working on and I only get to write on weekends/holidays, so don't lynch me. Thanks linzi for doing her super fast beta, all remaining mistakes are mine (I like to tinker)! Thanks to everyone reading and reviewing...b7kerravon, your latest review made me realize I needed to get a new part up! So hope you guys enjoy (I tried to make it a fun romp with plenty of whump).

**Part Three **

This was ridiculous. Pacing with crutches? Sheppard frowned at his feet and the floor, before turning, and thunking back towards the other end of the infirmary. Rodney was in surgery, and he wasn't pacing because he was worried. He just felt restless; all this limited activity was getting to him, that's all.

"Colonel Sheppard?"

"Lorne," Sheppard acknowledged. "What's up?"

The grin assessed Sheppard. "Apparently you, Sir. Didn't Doc want you to stay off your foot?"

"I'm as off as I'm going to get." Sheppard had never done 'down' well. Seeing the major still smiling with thinly veiled amusement, he asked, "Major, why are you here?"

The grin slipped. "Actually, Colonel, it's about that email from Ronon…"

"I thought I'd already cc'ed the _entire_ military contingent that just because Ronon suggested we use live fire sessions didn't necessarily mean I was going to do it?" Didn't necessarily mean he _wasn't_, either.

They'd found where Ronon's email had gone. Apparently when Ronon had gone into his address book he'd tried to send it to just Sheppard, and wound up sending it to everyone _except_ Sheppard.

"I understand that, Colonel," Lorne said. He looked a little sheepish before clearing his throat and continuing with what he needed to say, "But your email was a little vague for the troops."

Sheppard contemplated what had been dubbed RononGate. First, Ronon had sent him the email with some…well…harsh words about the state of readiness in the newly arrived Marines. But, instead of going to Sheppard, it'd gone to everyone else on Atlantis. Things like _'Did they send us the trainee rejects?' _and_ 'The women need to be made into men.' _ That'd been bad enough but then his suggestions for whipping them into shape – '_Drop them on the alpha site with only their clothes and a knife. Start with five against one (me). I'll have my blaster. A little live fire incentive.'_

He'd gotten deluged shortly after. First, those who'd been on Atlantis for a while asked, "_Colonel? Did you know this went to the entire expedition?_" A couple of, "_Not a bad idea_." And one, "_I'm ready for a one on one with the Satedan_," sent anonymously…kind of. The email address was one rodneymckay_at_lantisnetwork.civ.sci and seeing how McKay wasn't stupid, Sheppard figured someone had used his account when he was out of the lab. That'd earned McKay a lecture from the network security officer.

Then the new troops had responded. "_Colonel, Sir, I resent the implication that I'm a trainee reject." "For the record, Sir, a woman is just as capable as a man." "I'm pretty sure, Colonel, it's against OSHA to use live fire in training."_

Maybe he had been a little short with his reply 'to all.' Something along the lines of, "_Ronon is a valuable member of my team, a superior soldier, and is responsible for getting your sorry asses ready to survive the Pegasus Galaxy. Live fire refers to explosive, lethal and stun weaponry. The enemy won't stop to ask you which one you prefer during fighting, so don't ask me which one you'll face during training."_

"Vague keeps them on their toes," Sheppard grumped.

Lorne nodded carefully. "Yes, Sir, but it also gives me a headache."

Leaning on his crutches, Sheppard could appreciate things like headaches. Didn't mean he was gonna help Lorne, but he could appreciate where the major was coming from. "Sorry, Major."

"But it stands as is, doesn't it?" sighed Lorne.

"Yep. Tell you what, you can take the first team to the alpha site. Nothing builds camaraderie faster than sharing the pain."

"Pain? Colonel, I thought I told you to stay off that foot! Do I need to stick you back in an infirmary bed to get you to listen, Son?"

Sheppard whirled around and almost lost his balance. Beckett had walked in from the OR, looking sweaty and tired, and just as grumpy as Sheppard felt. "I'm not in pain, Doc…"

Lorne chuckled. "He was just telling me that I'd soon be."

Beckett looked back and forth between the two men. "And that's funny, Major?"

"Uh, no, Doc…" Lorne cleared his throat again. "Colonel."

He nodded sharply, and beat a hasty retreat, to the point where Sheppard had to shout after the major, "Don't forget, team one, tomorrow, 0800 hours!"

After Lorne disappeared from sight, Sheppard turned back to Beckett. Not for all the pain pills in the world would he admit it, but his arms hurt like hell, throbbing under his pits in tune to the pulsing in his foot. He'd been told the first two weeks would be the worst pain wise, and week one was almost over so just one more week of this shit. Course, then it'd start itching. Even better.

"How's McKay?" he asked.

Beckett frowned. "Sit, Colonel, now." The Doc gestured at a gurney. When Sheppard didn't move he exhaled irritably. "Son, you're here and I'm going to do a foot check whether you wanted one or not, because I can see the pain as plain as day in your face. Cooperate, and I'll tell you how surgery went. Don't cooperate and I'll --"

"You'll what, Doc? Ground me?"

This was probably taking his life in his own hands -- and that would be hands full of crutches so it wasn't like he had anything to grab for -- but that's what pain did to a person, made them grumpy and stupid, and made his mouth move before he considered the repercussions. Then again, it was the truth. What the hell could Beckett do to him that hadn't all ready been done? He'd cut Sheppard's toes open, stuck metal pins in, slapped a cast on his foot and gave him crutches with a, "You're grounded for 6 to 8 weeks, have a nice time," verbal whack on the face.

"Bloody hell, are you trying to get confined to the infirmary?" demanded Beckett.

Well, Sheppard guessed Beckett could do _that_. He stared long and hard at the gurney next to the waiting irate doctor. God, he was just in a pissy mood. Pain, worry, administration hassles…all because he'd told Ronon to go ahead and shoot and a goddamned booby-trapped door.

Without apologizing, he stomped-thunked his way to the gurney, balanced with the crutches in one hand to turn around, and pulled his arm away when Beckett tried to help. "I've got it, Doc," he ground out.

"You're just a prickly wee bear when you're hurting, aren't you, Colonel?"

To that, Sheppard settled for making a disgusted face. Once he was up on the gurney he let Beckett poke, only yelping once or twice, in a _manly_ way. The Doc's fingers were cold, that's all. "Now, how's McKay?" He'd done his part…reluctantly.

Beckett pushed back the stool, and grabbed a portable notepad on his desk, before rolling back towards Sheppard. Without meeting Sheppard's face, Beckett assured him, "Rodney's fine – in recovery. One pin to keep the bones aligned." His eyes crinkled. "You're titanium bone pin brothers."

He waited for Sheppard to say something but all Sheppard did was give Beckett a withering look. Beckett sighed. "Fine, stay grumpy. You'll be able to visit in another hour, and in the meantime, it looks like you've got a bit of infection starting here. I'll need to put you on some antibiotics, but it should respond quickly. We've caught it early, and it explains why you're hurting more."

Great. What's one more crappy turn in his life? "I'm not gonna stay in the infirmary, Doc."

"You'll stay if I tell you to, Colonel," Beckett responded sharply. "But it's nowhere near there right now. Just stay off this foot! The more you move it around, the harder it is for the tissues to heal. And I'll send the nurse in to advise you on proper wound care."

Beckett snapped off the gloves he'd pulled on for the quick examination, tossed them in the trashcan, and stood. "Don't leave until the nurse is done…besides, you wanted to see Rodney. She'll give you your medication and Colonel, finish it all."

Sheppard was pretty sure he was still making a face when Beckett left, and he pretended he didn't hear the cross muttering coming from the doc.

OoO

So, this time it was Sheppard sitting next to McKay staring.

McKay stared back.

Sheppard grinned.

"Would you stop that," coughed McKay.

Sheppard turned his wrist and considered the time. "Sure, in about an hour." He had a meeting with Elizabeth then.

The IV pump beeped and released more pain medication. Sheppard lifted the sheet to see McKay's fingers clutched around the control. "Maybe you should see someone about that."

"I am," gritted McKay. "Hence I'm the patient, and you're not. Now, leave. I don't need you driving me to keep dosing my pain meds till I'm high as a kite." He shifted uncomfortably on the bed. "Carson said I'm loose lips when I'm drugged."

"Really?" Sheppard asked with pseudo-concern. He readjusted his foot on the pillow where it was propped on another chair. "What'd you say?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"That's why I asked."

McKay's IV pump beeped again. "Go away."

Sheppard settled back more in the chair. "You wish."

OoO

The meeting with Elizabeth had dragged. Sheppard had sat through an hour lecture about proper report format, email protocol, training hazards and ended with a side dish of 'be a good patient,' which meant Beckett had snitched on him. He'd stood, gathered his crutches and his dignity, and muttered, "Yes, mother."

Then she'd followed insult with injury and pointed at his bulging pocket, the outline of the pill bottle clearly visible. "Take your medicine, John, or I'll let Carson have his way and get you confined to the infirmary."

"I took it," insisted Sheppard, mentally crossing fingers to ward off the bad karma from the lie.

She'd fixed him with a look, then turned back to her desk, giving him the freedom to escape. He'd hopped-thunked up to his office and poured a glass of water, tossing back the pill, only to have Ronon arrive right after. "Sheppard, I need to talk to you."

"You and everyone else," he grumped. "Look, if it's about the email fiasco, I'm with you. I think using stun weapons will teach the new recruits a lesson. Go with it. Just, make sure you come home with the same number of bodies you left with." Sheppard paused. "_Alive_, preferably," he added.

"I want Teyla to 'gate to the alpha site after we've cleared the immediate area."

Ronon leaned against the wall and grinned.

Sheppard had to share the grin. "You're not playing fair, big guy."

The runner shrugged. "The wraith don't. They'll get used to it."

It was a good plan. A good lesson. But having two of his team out playing war games while he was laid up facing paperwork made the grin disappear. Still – "Shoot one for me, okay?"

Ronon said, "I'll shoot two." His grin was one-hundred percent anticipation of pleasure. Sometimes Sheppard worried about the big guy. Ronon hadn't seemed to mind shooting Sheppard much, either. How many times now? There'd been the time on the jungle world, then when he was turning into a bug…two, three, four and…Sheppard coughed, a tickle in his throat growing insistent.

"Uh, Sheppard…"

"What?" he wheezed. Geez, what the hell?

"You're getting red. You okay?"

"Just…" Sheppard coughed harder.

Ronon was around the desk in the blink of an eye, and hauled him up, slapping him on his back. Sheppard wheezed louder. His face felt like it was on fire. "Not…helping!" he managed to get out amidst the rib-rattling pats. "Knock…it…off." Water, where was his water?

"Screw this," grunted Ronon.

He lifted Sheppard in a hold against his chest and barged towards the door. Two things went through Sheppard's mind. One, they really needed to quit teaching Ronon all the bad language, although screw was pretty mild compared to some of it, and two, there was no way Ronon was carrying him down those stairs and through the control deck with everyone watching.

"Put…me…down!" he wheezed.

"Something's wrong with you. You're puffing up like McKay did that time they used a new soap. With that foot of yours you can't walk fast enough so I'm taking you to Beckett before you pass out. Quit fighting me." He gritted through the effort of keeping Sheppard from falling.

Ronon plowed towards the stairs, people were all ready looking up, and Sheppard started squirming harder to get loose. One thing that could be said for him, Sheppard wasn't easy to keep a hold of. He never had been. He twisted, and turned.

Ronon's arms tightened, the runner swore, and when Sheppard began to fall forward he suddenly realized this hadn't been the brightest move he'd ever made. The next thing he knew, Elizabeth was shouting, "John!" Ronon swore loudly in his back, and then they were falling down the stairs.

When his world quit spinning, Sheppard felt something poking him on his back. He stared, stunned, at the ceiling. Elizabeth's worried face leaned into his blurry line of sight. "What the hell?" she breathed.

The groan underneath him finally got his brain to connect the poking sensation to the cause, and Sheppard rolled to the side. Ronon moaned louder, then made an abortive attempt to sit, before clutching his knee. "Son of a bitch," Ronon swore, only solidifying Sheppard's vow to quit swearing so much around the runner. Then again, what's done is done, right?

"That's…what you…get," Sheppard rasped. "Don't…fucking…pick me…up!" He tried to get a decent lungful of air, but it felt like bands were tightening around his chest. "I'm not…a sack…of potatoes."

In the middle of the call for an emergency medical team, more liberal swearing from Ronon, and wheezing from Sheppard, Lorne arrived. He stared, bemused, at Sheppard's sweating, coughing, puffy face. Then his eyes slid towards Ronon clutching his knee and moaning.

Lorne's eyebrow twitched upwards and he asked mildly, "I take it the training mission is delayed, Sir?"

Sheppard let his head fall against the deck.

OoO

TBC -- who will be the unlucky victim next to Sheppard's jinx?


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: **How long till it's finished? Well, my goal is to have the _Sheppard jinx_ befall all the major characters around him, so that can be a general guide, but also, after everyone's had their injury-time, I'm going to wrap up the fic with the training mission. So that's a rough estimate of what's left. Also, some things are slowly being explained. The detail will continue to be revealed. If a detail isn't present in this chapter, it's going to be coming soon, for example, Sheppard will be gifted with his medic alert dog tags in the future (they've got to order 'em, you know). Also, this is fun, I started this as a humorous response to a conversation with paris on the GW Sheppard whump forum, so I'm staying true to the original intent, and that's to make people laugh. There won't be any serious angsting in this fic. I've been completely surprised by the response and I swear, I'm trying to actually reply to reviews now! But for the ones in the past, thank you thank you!

Abr. Guide: OTS officer training school  
Planetary status: I inhabited, Ukn unknown, Uh uninhabited

Also, note for those of you who've been out of chemistry for a while, mercury is an extremely heavy metal.

**Chapter four**

"He's allergic!" crowed McKay.

Sheppard rolled his head sideways, the infirmary pillow crinkling as he moved, and glared balefully over the oxygen mask stuck to his face. Penicillin 1, Sheppard 0. But that didn't mean he was going to lie here and listen to McKay getting over-excited that he was no longer the only member of the team with a potentially life-threatening allergy. Sheppard pulled the mask from his face, wrinkling his nose as the fine mist of Albuterol, saline and oxygen tickled his nostrils. "Look, McKay," he wheezed, his hand shaking from the effects of the medication, "it's more likely you eating citrus off world than me getting exposed to penicillin, so don't get all happy."

Did McKay look down-hearted or deterred? Not even an ounce. He was still beaming, his head propped up, along with his wrist on another pillow. The IV pump was still there, still beeping with annoying frequency. "I really don't care." He grinned wider.

"Loose lips, Rodney," chided Carson, appearing from the open doors. He carried a medical scanner in his hand and quickly surveyed his patients, doing a visual check before he turned and grabbed the metal frame at the end of a gurney. As he pulled, the bed with Ronon appeared.

Going with the ABC's of triage, Sheppard had been whisked to the infirmary first. Carson had administered Benadryl, ordered an injection of steroid, and then a breathing treatment. The reaction was moderate, Carson had said, before heading off to rendezvous with the medical team en route with Ronon's gurney.

"What took so long?" Sheppard was only asking because he felt guilty, seeing the beads of sweat and the general twisted, contorted, pained expression marring Ronon's face. You know, what with him being kind of responsible. But not that much. Some day Ronon was going to have to learn to quit shooting Sheppard, and two, quit carrying him around. Those were generally things in John Sheppard's book of _How to Make Your Commanding Officer Irritated and Resentful_.

Ronon shot Sheppard a look that promised some training sessions from hell once they were both recovered. "I could've walked," he growled.

Carson rolled his eyes and said, "_That's_ what took so long." The doctor stepped out of the way for the tech to push the gurney the rest of the way into position against the wall, between Sheppard and McKay. "Bunch of bloody men in diapers, I'm beginning to think."

"Hey!" Sheppard's protest died in a cough.

McKay's grin slipped. "I'm not wearing diapers! Am I?" The crooked loopy dreamy expression drifted back. "I don't think I could walk a straight line right now to save my life." He chuckled and then gave Carson a thumb's up. "This is really good stuff this time, _Carson_." The compliment was given with sloppy appreciation bordering on puppy-dog adoration. "I think I might bump you into a higher classification of a scientist."

"What are diapers?" Ronon asked the question through clenched teeth. He hunched over, grabbing for his knee as the nurse tried to take control.

Carson stood at the end of Ronon's bed and stared wonderingly at the three of them, and Sheppard got the distinct feeling of being a kid in the principal's office, and not for a reward, either. "My nightmares are made of things like this." The doc shook his head, exhaled, then fixed his ire on Sheppard first. "If I see that mask off your face again, Colonel, I'm liable to stick a tube down your bloody throat." Then to Ronon, "Let the nurse scan that knee, son, or so help me, I'll let her practice surgical skills for her resume." Lastly, to McKay, "And that's it for you, Rodney, I'm taking away your control before you wind up serenading us with O! Canada, or worse yet, another round of physics folk songs."

Sheppard's mouth twitched underneath the compression of the mask, just itching to snap back something stupid, but infinitely satisfying. In the end, he just kept twitching. Ronon pulled his hands back from his knee but made sure the nurse knew it was begrudgingly done, and McKay, well, who knew physics folk songs really existed?

OoO

_Mission Designation: 0323-PX4-MM5._

Sheppard's hands paused over the keyboard. He considered the report form, full of empty blanks. He was going to use his time stuck in the infirmary and work on his overdue report, the one Elizabeth had sent back with a 'redo' ticket. Next to the block for secondary designation, usually reserved for the native's designation for their world -- such as Athos -- he typed AKA Planet Boom.

_Personnel assigned: Lt. Col. Sheppard, Dr. McKay, R. Dex, T. Emmagan_

_Departure time: 0900 hours, Friday, September 23rd, 2006, EST_

_Initial survey: see att. 1, 2a and 2b_

_Planetary classification: M_

_Status (I, Uh, Ukn:) I_

_COMMENTS: _

_(ADDITIONAL INSTRUCTIONS: REPORT ALL CONTACT IF STATUS OF PLANET IS I, ATTACH REPORTS FROM SCIENCE CONTIGENT AND ALL RELEVANT TACTICAL INFORMATION. REFERENCE ANY PLANETARY INJURY REPORTS AND INCLUDE MEDICAL DOCUMENTATION FOR INJURED MEMBERS. REMEMBER, COFFIN: **C**ontact **O**f **F**lora **F**auna **I**n **N**otes FOR ACCURACY)_

McKay grunted, snorted then went to brush a hand against his face, forgetting that the arm in question was wrapped thick and not feeling all that great. The startled yelp made Sheppard's fingers slip. He shot a look across the bed that separated them. The empty bed. Lucky bastard, Ronon.

His knee had been dislocated, relocated, then Carson had sent him off to his quarters on crutches and orders to stay off it, glaring at Sheppard the whole time he was doing so. What the hell was that about, anyway? It wasn't like he _wasn't_ staying off his foot. He was off it now.

"Oh, God, I want my pain pump back," moaned McKay.

"You shouldn't have been such a happy drug-ee." Sheppard put his fingers back in place and tried to come up with an opening sentence for planet Boom's mission. Apparently saying the planet offered nothing in the way of hidden ZPM's, other technology or allies for trading, wasn't enough. Especially with the notes on why McKay had to wear ear muffs for the week after they got back. Yeah, he probably should've just left that part off and let it fall into the ignominy of rumor.

McKay blinked at Sheppard. "Why are you still here? I thought Carson was letting you go after Ronon."

"What, McKay, don't like to share the nurses?" Sheppard typed the opening word, frowned at it, backspaced. Damn it. How to do this without making them look like idiots?

Sheppard heard McKay shifting in his bed, then the soft-slurps of water being drank from a straw. The lights were out, but for his laptop screen and what spilled in from the hallway and Carson's office. This was the doc's pointed attempt at getting him to sleep. Sheppard smirked. Yeah…he wasn't ten, and he hadn't willingly done a bedtime in at least that long. Well. Okay, OTS, but that didn't count.

More groaning. "No, I don't. I prefer to be the sole object of attention when I'm ensconced in their loving care – why would I want it any other way?"

Sheppard settled for nodding a little. Didn't really blame McKay for that one. A couple of the nurses were hot. The blonde-haired –

"Really, _why_ are you still here?"

Sheppard looked over, tried to act like it wasn't a big deal. "Doc said something about observation, relapse, infection and maybe something about my oxygen sats being low." He leaned a little further and lowered his voice, going confidential, mano y mano. "Personally, I think he just likes my company."

"Really?"

"No."

"Oh."

So…the report. The thing of it was, the natives had a trial, a test to see if the people coming through the stone ring were worthy. It hadn't been a big deal, they'd faced that kind of thing before, but on planet Boom, they handled it a little differently.

_AFTER DEPARTING THE STARGATE, WE WERE MET BY THE MYTHIANS. DR. MCKAY'S INITIAL SCAN REVEALED A POSSIBLE ENERGY SOURCE APPROXIMATELY FIVE KLICKS TO THE SOUTHWEST OF THE STARGATE. TEYLA REQUESTED PERMISSION TO TRAVEL THEIR LANDS AND THAT WAS WHEN –_

"What are you typing?"

The question startled Sheppard, and he jerked his fingers away, again. Finally on a roll and now he lost it. "Remember planet Boom?" he asked out the corner of his mouth, still trying to get his thoughts back on the sentence and finish it.

_-- THE LEADER, SAGA, SAID ANY WHO WISHED TO TRAVEL THROUGH THE SACRED LANDS WOULD HAVE TO TAKE A "TEST OF WORTH.' I WAS ASSURED THE TEST WAS HARML--  
_

"I thought you turned that one in already?" McKay's voice took on a nervous volume. "Done, filed, over, we could forget it ever happened."

Sheppard shrugged. "I tried, Rodney." A cough crept up his throat and he tried to choke it back.

"Well --" McKay flapped his good arm. "Gloss over it. You know, creative writing. I've read some of the reports you've filed, you can do it."

His fingers were crooked over the laptop, an ache beginning to build behind his eyes. "Look, it wasn't that bad, why don't you just bite the bullet and --"

"Wasn't that bad?!" McKay practically came out of the bed. "Do you have any idea how many nights after we got back that I went to sleep with that noise still ringing in my ears? It was like Jason Voorhees meets The Gong Show!"

"I didn't say it wasn't traumatic." Sheppard's attempt at sympathizing fell a little short, because McKay's strident statement had served to bring back memories he'd tried hard to bury and never resurrect. Like, buried more than the proverbial six feet deep. Think, Marianna trench deep. McKay hadn't been the only one jumping for days, weeks after, it's just Sheppard was a lot better at hiding things like that.

Suddenly, finishing the report lost all appeal. Sighing, Sheppard clicked SAVE FILE and brought up minesweeper. It was a tie between that and solitaire. He kind of sucked at solitaire.

McKay's side of the room had grown quiet. Sheppard studied the map of 1's and 2's, a couple of 3's and 4's. Hmmm. He clicked, phew, _good_, and clicked again, big red bomb of you suck appeared. Damn it.

"No, really, you aren't going to tell her _everything_, are you?"

OoO

"Good morning, Colonel!"

Carson's overly cheerful greeting made Sheppard burrow further under his pillow. He made a dialect-specific sound that Sheppard thought was suspiciously like 'och' and then slipped right into, "If someone had gone to bed when I suggested, they wouldn't be tired and out of sorts."

From underneath his pillow, Sheppard protested that lie. "I'm not out of sorts." His lips mushed into the mattress when he talked and it felt kind of wet. Like he'd drooled in his sleep.

When there wasn't a response, Sheppard finally flipped the pillow to the side and raised his head, being careful not to jar his foot when he began to move. It always felt so good when he first woke up…then he'd move and so long, sweet relief, hello Percocet. Carson had his arms folded over his stethoscope and was watching Sheppard with a jaded eye. "I only hate mornings when I'm in the infirmary," he defended. "Something about being woken up just to have a thermometer shoved in my --"

The arms came down in a disbelieving motion. "We don't do rectal temperatures!"

Sheppard grinned. "—my mouth," he enunciated, "really ruins my day."

The dark look from Carson made Sheppard painfully aware that only one of them was amused. You win some, you lose some. Funny, though, seemed Doc got his smile back when he started poking and prodding Sheppard. When he got to the foot, though, Sheppard yanked it back and glowered. "It's fine, Doc," he gritted. Now that he'd moved, yep, pulsing with the beginning throbs of pain.

A snort came across the room. "If it's so fine, then why won't you let Carson see it?"

"Shut up, McKay." Sheppard brandished his pillow to make the point that he was armed and dangerous.

"Oh, right, big of you, pick on the injured man."

"_I'M_ injured!"

And while McKay ran interference, Carson grabbed Sheppard's leg and held it tight. "There, now," he said, trying not to roll his eyes and failing at Sheppard's surprised grunt. "Nothing to it." He released Sheppard's foot after poking at the toes gently with the tip of his pen. He scooted back on the stool and grabbed his notepad, entered something, then smiled at Sheppard. "The Trimethoprim-Sulfamethoxazole combination is doing nicely."

The only satisfaction Sheppard got out of all that was watching Carson turn his attention to McKay.

After the torture was over, Carson announced that Sheppard and McKay could be released. McKay was to head for his quarters and absolutely stay away from the lab, whereas Sheppard had a staff meeting at eleven. Joy. Apparently, no days off for allergy reactions. Well, maybe half a day. And some change.

The crutches of doom were returned to him, and he and McKay waited to sign their discharge papers, gather their medications (new antibiotics for Sheppard, good pain pills for McKay). McKay tried to bribe him with all the pseudo-chocolate chip cookies from the mainland that he could pirate back to the city in exchange for Sheppard 'losing' the second version of the mission report for PX4-MM5, the one he still hadn't finished anyway. He told McKay not for all the tea in china.

Finally, they walked out. McKay with his arm in a sling, strapped tight to his side, and Sheppard, valiantly hop-thunking to keep up. At the transporter, they went different directions. McKay off to rest – yeah, right, Sheppard knew for a fact that McKay had Zelenka already waiting on the other end of AtlantisTalk, ready so he could snap out orders – and Sheppard was off to attend a meeting, topic unknown, but unless it was about the wraith, killer storms, or lost teams, he didn't really care. It was an art, to look like you were paying attention in a meeting, when really, you might be calculating the flight time to the breakers on the mainland for some serious R&R.

He was surprised to find Ronon at the meeting, and even more surprised to find out it was a grievance issue over RononGate. Seems some females had taken exception to the 'make men out of the women' comment and had raised enough of a stink to get it taken to the top. "He's an _alien_, Elizabeth. Political correctness hasn't made the galactic jump."

Zelenka rushed through the door, hair ruffled, face red. He murmured an apology for being late before sliding into the empty seat by Sheppard. Leaning over, Sheppard asked, "Incapable, incompetent, or just idiotic this time?"

A Czech curse filled the room. "All three!"

"I'm not an alien, Sheppard."

Teyla tapped a few fingers ominously on the table. "No, you are not," she agreed. "Merely you often do not think before you speak, or, in this instance, type."

"Next time tell him there's server problems then shut the program off."

Zelenka breathed deep. "I've tried. He gets Miko to snitch."

"I can take care of that for you," Ronon offered.

The feminine throat-clearing was loud enough to make the men stop talking and look for the source. Elizabeth sat in her chair, fingers clutching the armrest. She looked kind of like she'd swallowed something sour. "Gentlemen," she said frostily. "The purpose of this meeting is to discuss proper e-mail etiquette and gender equality, not," she emphasized, "how to circumvent Rodney's attempts at being involved even while restricted to his quarters."

Sheppard opened his mouth to say something about double standards, when she made a face he was pretty sure was just for his benefit and added, "Though I am sure Carson will be interested to hear about it when we're finished."

Now, as I was saying, Ronon, on our world, men and women are considered equal. Saying things like 'make women into men' is considered –"

Sheppard smiled irreverently. "Against the law. Toss you in the dungeon."

"Colonel…"

"Throw away the key --"

Elizabeth was tight-lipped, but Teyla was fighting to hide a smile. A moment passed, and Sheppard cleared his throat self-consciously, ran his hand across the table surface, reconsidering. "So, you know, maybe you should…" he bobbed his head a little, "try not to say things…like that…again."

He wondered if it was too late to blame the Percocet?

OoO

Sheppard and Ronon were crutch-buddies, and since they couldn't do any sparring, they decided to work on their upper arm strength. Ronon assured Sheppard this would work them up into a sweat without them having to hardly move their legs at all. The hallway just outside of the gym had an overhanging balcony. Ronon took the bottom level, claiming Sheppard was nowhere near ready to toss up, so that left him with the top. After catching the kaba once, Sheppard had to agree with Ronon's assessment. The Satedan ball wasn't your mommy's basketball. The heavy leather-bound object must've been filled with sand. Possibly sand mixed with mercury.

He leaned over the railing just in time to catch it, his fingertips burning from the effort of holding on. The crutches were discarded behind him, the overdue report shoved out of his thoughts – he really didn't want to write it – and it was just sheer physical endurance looming ahead for the next hour.

After aiming the kaba just a little off to the side to make Ronon hop for it, Sheppard got ready for the return toss. He had to hop left, lunge against the railing again, and felt a solid hit that he knew was going to be a bruise on his chest tomorrow. But he got it. And he also cut his hour estimate down to about thirty minutes. Geez, you think you're in shape and then you have Ronon introduce you to a kid's game.

"Ready, big guy?" he taunted, sliding even further to the right.

Ronon grinned upwards, slapped his hands together. "Bring it on, Sheppard."

Sheppard leaned over and tossed it, and even as it left his fingertips, he saw the familiar auburn hair walk out from underneath the balcony right into the line of fire. Ronon was looking up at the ball and didn't see her. "Teyla!"

She looked up and only had time to get part of her arm in place to deflect the kaba. It glanced off the top of her head and part of her forearm. Teyla dropped as fast as if she'd been hit with a stunner, out cold. Sheppard stared in horror at Ronon and Ronon was hopping hurriedly towards Teyla.

"Medical emergency outside the gym!" Thank God he was wearing his comm.. Then, forgetting his crutches, he hopped to the stairs and practically slid down them on his ass, before rushing to Ronon and Teyla. He was breathing the breath of the damned. "Tell me --"

"She's okay." Ronon pulled back so Sheppard could see.

Teyla's chest rose and fell in a normal, healthy rhythm. Her color was okay, no blood. Oh, _crap_. Sheppard felt the floor meet his butt, let his head fall into his hands. Was his heart ever going to recover? "Probably a concussion," he swore, half to convince himself.

Sheppard could say one thing for the medical teams on Atlantis, they were fast. Already he could hear the clatter of wheels rushing down the hall towards them. He managed to scoot to the side and watched as Carson ran through a preliminary check. After nodding to his team to lift her to the gurney, he turned his attention on Sheppard and Ronon. "From what I can tell, she's lucky. I'll need a scan to be sure, but I'd guess she'll get off with a mild concussion and a badly bruised arm. If she hadn't gotten it up in time, it might be a different story." He lifted the abandoned kaba, his eyes widening as he felt the weight. "Bloody hell, colonel, does this fall under 'light duty?""

Sheppard opened his mouth to say that, well, he really didn't think it'd been specified when Carson shook his head, angry and let the ball drop to the floor with a loud thunk. "No, don't answer that, we both know it doesn't. Now, guess where you've earned yourself a free trip to?"

Ronon looked uncomfortable, picked up his crutches and tried to slink off. Didn't really work with crutches.

Carson pursed his lips at Ronon. "You are to go to your quarters, am I understood?"

"Sure, Doc." Ronon had the decency to toss Sheppard a look of pity before hopping away.

"Colonel, where are your crutches?"

That was the first step in digging his grave. Sheppard had faced down wraith, Genii, even dinosaurs on that one planet…but Carson carried this whole other level of intimidation. Still, he was an Air Force Colonel, approaching forty.

"I left them on the balcony."

Carson nodded, acting like he understood. Even like he was sympathetic to Sheppard's plight, seeing Teyla knocked out from their game, and all. "And how did you get from the balcony down here?"

"Doc…"

"Have you looked at your foot?"

Sheppard got a sinking feeling and looked down. Blood had soaked through the white sock he wore over his partial cast. He felt his shoulders slump. "Crap." Well, he'd been planning on going to see how Teyla was doing anyway…

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

AN: Yes, I know, that's the sound of stunned ,"OMG, she's actually _updating_ it!" I apologize profusely for the delay, time is very limited during the school year and I had a lot of committments with deadlines. I had written the first part of this as a one-shot and then got sucked into taking it further. The good news is that my other committments are done and now this fic is up on the block to be finished. There's 3-4 more parts to go, I'm hoping to have it complete in under two weeks. So, for those of you that have waited patiently, thank you. I do appreciate it. Thanks to Linzi for her beta help!

Also, this is set between The Return Part II and Echoes because of a small technological plot device that I needed to use. There are no spoilers about the **actual plot** of Return II, though, so you can read this and remain unspoiled, I promise.

OoO

"Cut it off."

Sheppard regarded his foot like it was the enemy. It was disobeying orders, _his_ orders, to heal, _quickly_, and to stop causing problems and pain, and please God, stop _throbbing_!

Everyone in the military knew what you did to soldiers that wouldn't take orders – ha! The irony wasn't lost on him. You cut them loose. Sent them off into the wild blue, or, you know, places very cold and crappy like Antarctica. Since he couldn't send his toe off without sending _himself_, cutting it off would have to suffice. Except, well, wouldn't it be three toes? 'Cause there was three causing him pain.

Carson frowned and kept stitching. "You don't mean that, Colonel."

"Yes, I do." All right. Possibly it might be a little extreme, but this was getting ridiculous. How could something so small turn into such a huge pain in the ass? In fact, Sheppard was getting _really_ tired of it. His foot was cursed, that was the only explanation. When he'd hopped, ran, slid, whatever, down the stairs to get to Teyla, he'd tore a few stitches – just enough to make it bleed and hurt, and to get in Carson's bad graces, _again_. And to be back in a place he was really getting sick of: the infirmary.

With a long-suffering sigh that Sheppard thought was really unwarranted, Carson made a face and finished tying off the last stitch. He pushed away on his rolling stool to grab the bottle of saline wash on a metal table behind him, before rolling back to Sheppard. He pulled a towel out from underneath the bed and settled it under Sheppard's propped foot, getting ready to use the thin nozzle to carefully wash the blood-smeared skin in between the swollen toes where it had dried to an ugly, crusted brown.

"If you'd stay off your foot, the healing process would go a lot easier and most likely a lot less painful."

"Doc," Sheppard whined, sucking in air as the cold water hit the irritated, inflamed skin, "it's not like I'm intentionally trying to set myself back here."

Carson's hand stilled in mid-squeeze on the fat plastic bottle labeled STERILE RINSE and his eyebrow arched mid-way up his forehead, his face bearing an extreme look of disbelief. "Really, Colonel? And that's why I've caught you doing a poor excuse of walking all over Atlantis, playing ball with Ronon, and running down stairs? Or am I missing the part where you've actually followed my orders about staying off your foot? And not to bloody mention you've managed to take out Rodney, Ronon and now Teyla."

Sheppard tried hard not to instinctively yank his foot away from Carson's less than gentle ministrations. He knew his infirmary rep was already tilting firmly into the 'big baby' category after this latest round of problems, but damn, injuries to toes _hurt_! They were sensitive and just because he'd been a little reckless didn't mean he was impervious to pain.

So, he was kind of proud when his foot stayed right where it was, and instead of pulling away and fussing, he took the opportunity to steer the topic to, well, let's just say to topics less irritating to Carson. Like Teyla.

"Speaking of Teyla, how's she doing?"

Carson made a cut-off sound that amounted to "I know what you're doing" before returning his attention to Sheppard's foot, spraying a final time, then wiping gently with gauze. After a few moments of quiet contemplation he pulled the bottle away, dried a few more spots, then regarded the foot critically. "That'll do," he declared. "As for Teyla, she's had her scans and other than a mild concussion and a bone bruise, she's fine. She'll stay overnight for observation."

He gathered up the used supplies and stood, heading for the red bio-hazard trash bin across the room.

Sheppard began to ease himself off the gurney, testing the water. His foot was an ache that centered in his toes, spread up to his ankle and simmered in his lower shin. It set his teeth on edge and made him wish even more to just have someone _cut it off_.

When he glanced up, he found Carson watching him, pensive. "You're in pain, John. Why don't you just lay back and I'll give you something to take the edge off?"

"You're just trying to get me to stay here where you can hover."

A grin escaped across Carson's face, but it was undercut by a seriousness that hid unsuccessfully in the less-than-usual crinkles around his eyes and the tight lines around his lips. "Perhaps, a little, but not completely. You're recovery is getting a bit more complicated than I'm comfortable with. Did you take your antibiotic today?"

"Yes, Dad," Sheppard replied drolly.

"Cheeky bugger. I'm serious, Colonel." Carson closed the distance between them and put on his Doctor Business face. "If there's _one_ more complication, I promise, I will confine you to bed, for a time to be determined. You're becoming a hazard to your own health." He scowled and added, "And to everyone else."

"_Colonel Sheppard?"_

"Yeah, Elizabeth?"

Carson glared and Sheppard had to shrug in a "what do you want me to do?" gesture because hey, she was his _boss_. And he had to respond. Sheppard had this sliding scale, rating times when ignoring her calls and orders were worth the lecture and dressing down that would inevitably come afterward. She wasn't military but she sure could do pissed well – then again, wasn't that a universal female trait? Anyway, basically, if he wasn't convinced ignoring her and going against orders was going to save lives, the city, and something equally important, he figured he'd better reply and go along with what she wanted.

"_Radek is having some difficulties accessing Atlantis through the throne chair. If Carson has cleared you, he could use your help."_

"Elizabeth, the colonel really shouldn't be --"

Sheppard glared this time before tapping his ear piece. "The _colonel_ is just fine and will be right there." He tapped it back off and said, "Or did I miss where I was restricted to quarters?"

"_Carson? Are you telling me Colonel Sheppard's been removed from duty?"_

"I'm saying I don't think he should be traipsing about the city!" Carson retorted irritably.

"_Normally, Doctor, that would be all I'd need to hear, but Radek is growing worried about fluctuations in the ZPM and since Rodney is still --"_

"And he'll stay restricted to his quarters," Carson snapped. "He just had surgery!"

"_Then you can appreciate the importance of John's help. If it will help you feel better, I'll go with him myself and make sure he behaves."_

Sheppard wondered just when he'd suddenly been regressed to six years old and having to be escorted to use the bathroom merely because of a few well-placed firecrackers? Because that's what it felt like. He rolled his eyes and said, "It's not like I'm going to run five miles, here, guys."

Carson leaned down and pulled the instruments of armpit torture from the floor and handed them to Sheppard. He said to Elizabeth, "All right then, but when Radek's done with him, he needs a hot meal and bed. He's looking a wee bit cranky." Carson smirked at Sheppard.

Well, he looked grumpy because he _was_ grumpy. And Sheppard was pretty sure there was more eye-rolling involved on his part. Could you claim workman's comp for strained necks from too much eye-rolling – oh, wait, he was military -- you didn't get to claim workman's comp, you'd just get a medical review board and discharged if you didn't pass. So much for that idea.

"Elizabeth, I'll be there in a minute. Just gonna check on Teyla first." He took the crutches from Carson and thought waspishly _absolute power corrupts absolutely_, and hopped off towards the observation ward of the infirmary.

OoO

"I have a headache, John."

"I'm sorry," he said, trying to look contrite. Sheppard really was sorry. Teyla could kick his ass with those sticks of hers, and judging from the look on her face, she was planning some new, inventive way for their next session…after Carson gave them both the all-clear.

Suddenly, Doctor Over Protective's coddling seemed more attractive.

She was stretched out in bed, white scrubs pale against her bronze skin. She had an ice pack on her arm; to help with the bruise, the nurse had explained tersely. She also had one eye turning a beautiful shade of purplish-blue. It was impressive. Hell of a shiner. Although the large knot just above the eye was by far the darkest purple he'd _ever_ seen. It might've qualified as black.

"So, I, uh," Sheppard thumbed at the door, "Elizabeth wants me to go help Radek." He leaned heavily on his crutches, not above looking pitiful in hopes that it might erase just a little bit of that ire that seemed to have taken up permanent residence on her face (okay, a lot of ire). "I just wanted to make sure you're, you know, being taken care of and… doing okay."

She inhaled deeply, winced, and took a moment to go from pissed to polite before saying coolly, "I am fine. Go help Radek."

Sheppard felt kinda…well, wounded. "Hey, I didn't mean to --"

"I know, John, but nonetheless, my head _aches_. And my arm. And you were not doing as Carson wished." Her brown eyes locked with his. "Please, go. I am planning on taking a long nap."

"Um, actually, we need you to stay awake for a little while longer." The nurse gave Teyla a sheepish look. "Observation for a head wound. You know how it is."

Teyla closed her eyes and fingered her blanket violently.

Every soldier knows a well timed retreat is worth its weight _in your life_. So, Sheppard smiled bravely, told Teyla he hoped she was feeling better soon, and promised he'd have Lorne confiscate Ronon's ball of death, before ducking out and heading towards the throne chair room.

OoO

"Psssst!"

Sheppard had just hobbled out of the transporter when the noise to his right made him jerk to a stop. He looked over, squinted into the darkened corridor. "McKay?" He hopped a little closer.

"Back! Get back, I swear, it's holy water. Just…stop there. Don't come any closer."

Sheppard got his balance and lifted a crutch off the floor, poking it towards Rodney. "Knock it off, or I'll give you a reason to seek holy protection."

Rodney stepped out from the shadows, his arm tucked against his chest, held in place with a tight sling. His fingers protruded from the temporary splint, swollen and bruised. "Fine," he hissed, "but you can't blame me for being appropriately paranoid. You're a walking time bomb."

"I'm not a bomb!"

"No, you're just a jinx. A pox. A curse on the boil of humanity --"

Sheppard had dropped his crutch back to the floor and now fought against the urge to raise it again, but this time he'd follow through with the hitting. Maybe just a little thump in a strategic location… "Maybe I'm missing something, but did you lay in wait to ambush me at the transporter just to insult me? Because that's a bit much even for you."

Rodney held a surrendering hand up. "Sorry, it's just…" he looked pained, "_Teyla,_ Sheppard!"

"McKay --"

"Fine, fine." Rodney looked furtively down the corridor, then pulled Sheppard back toward the dimly lit corridor. Ignoring Sheppard's surprised grunt, Rodney shoved him against the wall next to him. "Look, I know something's going on with the ZPM."

"How did you--?" Sheppard narrowed his eyes. "Miko, wasn't it? Christ, Rodney, you've got to quit stringing her along like that --"

"I'm not stringing her along. Just because some people want to help."

"Whatever. For what's it worth, it's just some fluctuations. Radek wants me to go light up the chair so he can fix the problem." Sheppard raised an eyebrow. "You know, if Carson catches you out of your room it's not gonna be pretty."

"Just some fluctuations!" spluttered Rodney. He waved his uninjured arm expansively, as if trying to make up for the lack of the other. He glared at the corridor, worried someone might be coming and hear his outburst. After a quick look, he was satisfied they were still relatively unnoticed. He turned back to Sheppard and snapped, "A ZPM doesn't have '_just some fluctuations'_!"

Sheppard drummed his fingers against the wooden bars of his crutches and asked lazily, "You want me to what? Spy for you?" He shook his head, disgusted. "I'm not your groupie, McKay. Let Radek handle it."

"Oh, excuse me for wanting to stay _alive_."

Rodney was wearing that "I know more than you could possibly understand and if you don't listen, we're all going to die horribly" expression.

Crap. On one hand, if he was caught colluding with Rodney, they were both Carson-meat. On the other, while Radek was smart and capable, he wasn't _Rodney_. Sheppard looked at the floor, looked at the wall, tried to ignore the dull, throbbing, constant ache in his foot. Screwed. That was it. He was screwed – and Rodney could smell his capitulation from miles away.

The arrogance gave way to boyish glee and Rodney went to rub his hands together, aborting at the last minute with a grimace. He stared for a confounded moment at his useless hand and his good one, noting the incongruity of them, then the grin was back and he said, "Great, okay, this is what I need you to do --"

OoO

When he arrived at the chair room, he was a little breathless. The damn backpack made hoofing it around on crutches a lot harder. His center of mass was shifted now, throwing him off-kilter.

"This better be worth it, McKay," he muttered.

Radek was sitting near the console at the back of the room. Elizabeth leaned against the wall near the scientist. She smiled warmly at Sheppard.

"John, nice of you to join us," she chided.

"Sorry, had to make a pitstop at the little airman's room," he lied.

She looked heavenward for a millisecond before straightening and clasping her hands in front of her. "I…didn't need to know that."

Sheppard flashed his best _you love me_ grin her way, before hopping towards the chair, dropping his crutches to the floor. She rushed forward to take his elbow and eased him down to the platform then helped him shrug the backpack off. "Thanks."

"What's in here?" she teased. "A year's subscription of Aviation Weekly?"

"Just some gear I needed to bring. Teyla suggested I carry stuff this way, makes it easier. And nobody has to be my mule." Well, Teyla _had_, so it wasn't like he was telling a lie. He just wasn't saying _everything_.

"I see." Her smile was ineffectually hidden as she turned to Radek. "Are we ready? I'm under strict instructions to take John to bed when he's finished here."

Sheppard choked.

Thankfully, Radek took pity on him and said, "Yes, Colonel. If you could get in chair, please?"

That's when Sheppard waved Radek to come closer. When the diminutive Czech was near enough, Sheppard lifted his backpack and shoved it against Radek's chest. "_Miko_ said here's the back-up monitoring station, for, you know…"

Radek's eyes narrowed then widened and he hurriedly clutched the bag as Sheppard let go; then he scowled, and turned back to the console. "_Miko_ should have more faith in my abilities," he grouched under his breath, but he was also pulling Rodney's laptop from the bag and quickly hooking it into the console. He brought up a backdoor program so Rodney could have access and then Sheppard couldn't see what else he was doing because Elizabeth was taking his arm and helping him into the chair.

"That's odd," she said.

"What?" His butt settled against the chair like it was a plush lazy boy, the kind you drop in after being dragged from store to store by a significant other that kept promising _just one more store._ He was that tired.

"Isn't Miko _Rodney's_ assistant?"

Sheppard found himself coughing. It was a big production. Full of choking, gasping and then pointedly rasping to Radek, "Ready?"

"Er, just one moment…"

Sure. Sheppard had all day. Nothing better to do than sit here and wait. One Mississippi, two Mississippi – he _was_ getting kinda hungry – three Mississippi, four –

"Okay, is ready now, Colonel. Just start slow."

"Slow?" Sheppard echoed. "There's no 'slow', it just comes on."

"Z'ádný; there is slow, moderate and fast; just because you haven't _tried_ slow does not mean it doesn't exist."

Sheppard thought about scientists and hammers through the skull. Elizabeth leaned over his shoulder and said, "Just try. I'm sure you'll do fine." She patted his shoulder reassuringly.

Why did he get the feeling he was just a trained dog sometimes? Still, Radek was typing and shooting him anxious looks while Elizabeth hovered behind him – no pressure, nope. Not a bit. He twisted his neck, settled his shoulders and pushed his palms against the gel of the controls.

_//slow//_ he thought to Atlantis. _Not fast_. Gentle. He pictured a snail crawling on a sidewalk. An old lady tottering by with a cane. Himself, hopping through the hallways on crutches.

He was surprised when instead of the pleasant tingle, he felt an almost…pins and needles? The first sensation was usually oddly comforting, nice. _This_ felt borderline painful. He pulled his hands back, surprised. The chair thrust upright and powered down.

"Colonel?" Radek asked, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

"John?" Elizabeth walked around him, to the front of the chair. "What is it?"

He shook his head, licked his lips. "Something's off."

Radek looked even more puzzled. "Yes, of course. That is why we are here. Fluctuations. But I need power to the chair to access Atlantis' more complicated systems. I have theory that it might be subroutines accessing the hyperdrive --"

"Stop." Elizabeth held up her hand. "Are you telling me Atlantis is trying to activate the Star Drive independently? What could cause that?"

"The Wraith?" Sheppard guessed. "Anything on long range sensors?"

Radek jerked his head abruptly. "No, no, is not likely anything like that. There are no Hive ships approaching. This is speculation only at this point, we would need to access the database, but I believe the subroutine is part of a maintenance process that was initiated when we passed the minimum power threshold."

"It didn't feel like maintenance to me," Sheppard stated. He felt a momentary internal shudder run along his arms and legs, and _damn it_, he'd almost forgotten the pain, and then he had to go and think about his leg which led to his foot which reminded him of just how much it _hurt_.

His crankiness reasserted itself. "So, what do we need to do?"

Radek hmmmed.

See, _that_ was the difference. Rodney leaped in, two feet first. Radek often had one foot solidly on ground while the other hung into thin air. "Try again?" he finally suggested, shrugging. "The connection wasn't long enough for me to gain enough data. I need you to hold it online for longer than five minutes."

"Five minutes," Sheppard repeated, "okay, I can do that."

All traces of Elizabeth's earlier joking had disappeared, and now she was dressed in the seriousness of the situation. She nodded at John. "Are you sure? You looked a little shook up there for a minute."

Sheppard's foot throbbed in tune to a mean drummer, his stomach was threatening to growl, loudly. All he had to do was deal with the unsettling feeling of pins and needles for five minutes. "I'm sure." And if not, well, then he figured they'd all know it.

"Good. Then, if you will, Colonel?" Radek typed furiously even while Sheppard began to incline, the power thrumming up underneath him, spreading into his limbs.

At first, it was prickly. Like heat rash. And like babies suffering in the long summer heat, Sheppard felt acutely uncomfortable, fighting against the sudden urge to itch. Then it increased and became more like bad bug bites. "How much longer?" he grated.

And you know, he should've seen this coming.

Rodney was suddenly running in, shouting frantically, "Shut it down, shut it _down_!"

Then Elizabeth stepped in front of Sheppard, looking to Rodney then back to him. Her mouth opened and she began to say something that looked like, "Shut it off," but about then the pins and needles and itch and prickly pain burst into fire –

Radek was hurtled across the room, slamming into Sheppard. Panels exploded all around them; sparks flew like the 4th of July and New Year's Eve combined. The lights groaned, dimmed, and disappeared in a painful _pop_!

Smoke was so thick he couldn't breathe. Hands grabbed for him – _Elizabeth_? Where was Rodney?

Survival instinct, adrenaline, whatever you want to call it, _it_ finally kicked in. Sheppard staggered out of the chair, clutching Radek in his arms. The hands guided him through a darkness only broken in short bursts of seizure-inducing light dancing up from the shorted out consoles.

Things went a little warped and a little gray, then he was in the corridor and someone was thrusting an oxygen mask over his mouth.

_Breathe, John_, he thought. Then someone else gathered up Radek. And Sheppard thought, _oh, crap, I killed Radek_.

And then he passed out.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

AN: So glad to see people are still with me! I'm sad to say this chapter comes with bad news. I've tried to keep this as spoiler free as possible, but I'm afraid there is talk about events in The Return part II, so, if you haven't seen it and don't want to know anything that might possibly happen, wait until it's aired to continue reading. I'm extremely apologetic for this, but I like to let stories kind of, well, tell themselves with as few boundaries as possible. The concept for this chapter snuck in and took over and I kept it as spoiler-lite as I could but events are discussed more so than before. Also, if you'd thought I was a little off the rails before, I'm afraid this chapter will solidify my crack-tastic state. (but it's fun, right!) As always, thanks for the reviews, I eat them up and love them. They're _delicious_! And now onto victim number, errrr, well whatever number it is now. Thanks Linzi, for the quick beta, what's left is mine.

* * *

Smoke inhalation. 

That's why he was sucking in oxygen through a plastic, smelly mask, and fighting against every impulse to snatch it off. He'd come to still in the hallway, in the process of being lifted to a gurney. He'd tried to argue he could walk, but Carson had snapped, "No, Colonel. Absolutely not. Operating crutches while woozy is a recipe for yet more disaster, and I think we've just about had enough of that, haven't we?"

No, wait, back it up a second.

The _first_ thing he'd done when the cobwebs had cleared from his mind had been to rasp the question, "Radek?" to which Carson's mouth had compressed into a thin line. "He received quite a shock, but I think he'll be fine."

Rodney and Elizabeth were getting the same treatment nearby: oxygen and beds for all.

The problem: Atlantis was in a snit. Power was down everywhere, and reports were flooding in of people trapped in transporters and dark rooms. And if Atlantis was in a snit, then Rodney was in a snit.

"Could you possibly set aside your sheepherder tendencies and look around! One would think --," Rodney broke off in mid-rant to cough and choke, painfully. Carson, who Sheppard could see if he rolled his head sideways, was standing next to Rodney and he calmly reached for the mask held loosely in the scientist's hand, plucked it free, and placed it patiently back over Rodney's mouth.

"Aye, and you're in just the condition to go gallivanting around," he said sagely.

Unfortunately for Carson, this was an argument he was doomed to lose before it even began. Why? _Power was out across Atlantis_. People were trapped. Elizabeth, Sheppard, Rodney and Radek – practically the entire upper echelon -- were in his care, lying on Carson's beds of doom. (So, sue him, it was times like these that made Sheppard exaggerate.)

Elizabeth managed to recoup her senses enough to sit, pull her mask away from her lips and say in a strangled voice, "Rodney's right."

They'd made it to the infirmary and it was buzzing. Radek was transferred to a bed across the way, hooked to monitors, and a cut on his temple closed with a butterfly strip. A nurse was stationed at Radek's side, cleaning his face and monitoring his vitals. Sheppard was thankful Carson hadn't stuck one of those bodyguards on him. Med techs hurried around; flashlights on ass-ends were stationed in strategic locations to maximize the lighting from the wide beams. Organized chaos accompanied with a side dish of subdued curiosity and mild panic.

Sheppard turned his attention to Elizabeth, because the ball was now in her court. Personally, he could've told Carson how this was going to go down. Heck, Carson probably knew and was just rote protesting because it would at least make him feel better.

Elizabeth ignored Carson's glare and cast a glance Sheppard's way. Her lips curled wryly. "It would seem we have little choice. Rodney is the most qualified and in the best condition, unless you have any plans on releasing Radek." She pulled the oxygen mask over her head, making a face as the elastic band pulled and snarled in her hair, then slid off the bed. A little waver had Carson jerking forward but she shook her head. "I'm fine." Elizabeth breathed deep, testing the waters, Sheppard figured, trying out her lungs. She must've been satisfied enough because the shakiness seemed to dissipate with every breath. "I assume," she said archly to Carson, "that you would appreciate restored power?"

Sheppard pulled his mask off. "I'll help." This was _his_ city, and he'd be damned if he stayed in bed while she discombobulated just because Carson was getting sick of patching up his foot. Granted, he should invest in some frequent infirmary miles, or something, but it was just a run of bad luck. It wasn't like he wasn't healthy. He could function just as well as Rodney, and _technically_ he was better off because _he_ wasn't the one that'd just had surgery yesterday.

Or was that this morning? Crap, who knew anymore. Either way, Sheppard was in better shape than Rodney.

"_No_!" Carson, Elizabeth, _and_ Rodney snapped, snarled, and declared in unison.

Sheppard frowned. He also looked a little like a kicked dog.

"Ms. Emmagan, I don't think --"

The glaring looks shifted away from Sheppard and transferred to Teyla, emerging from the observation unit. She was still shrugging her shoulders into her vest, being careful with her bruised arm. The shadowed light didn't let Sheppard get a good look at her, but she didn't seem all that steady on her feet to him.

"You're going to let the post-op patient and the concussed go help, but I'm stuck here just because you're pissed at me?" Sheppard thought, _low, Doc, really low_. "I can help, and I feel fine."

"Oh, bloody hell. I hate my job." Carson took a long, deep breath. He glared at _everyone_. "Fine, Rodney, you and Elizabeth, go. But the moment you get this settled, I want both of you back. Teyla --"

She raised her chin stubbornly. "A headache does not make me incapable of helping."

Carson rolled his eyes disgustedly. "But a concussion does. Never mind. I'm sure you'll run into Ronon in the command center so just…go with them. Any doubling vision or worsening headache, you need to let me know, understood?"

Teyla nodded. Sheppard didn't miss the pained grimace that followed. Judging from Carson's face, he didn't either.

"SOP," Rodney muttered. A nursed handed him a glass of water and some pain pills. Rodney downed both in a gulp, choked back a couple of coughs, then gestured curtly for Teyla to follow him. "We need a flashlight and we're going back to the throne room, not the command deck," he snapped his fingers on his good hand, "oh, and my tablet, I left it in the hallway…"

At least Elizabeth gave Sheppard an apologetic look before disappearing after them.

And that left him, John Sheppard, the only one left in Carson's clutches (other than the others that had arrived with bumps and bruises from the sudden plunge into blackness, and Radek). The doc had a gleam and an edge of steel in his eyes. He crossed to Sheppard's bed after picking up Rodney's discarded blanket and tossing it at the now empty gurney. "So, Colonel. Arguments, protestations, complaints?"

Oh, Sheppard had plenty. Under ordinary circumstances, though, he'd have clued into the whole, "Doc's pissed, be very, very careful," thing. The trouble was, Carson had not really asked, he'd _dared_. And Sheppard was feeling extremely pissy. Almost killing Radek, the throne chair room going boom, and you know, the fact that just about everyone else who was injured was released to go save the day, and he got left behind when the only thing that was wrong with him was a stupid bum foot…

"Rodney's right. You're a Border Collie." Sheppard fumed. As far as insults go, it was pretty pathetic, but it still made him feel a little better. "_Sheepherder_," he grumbled under his breath, just to add something to make it feel like it was a little more than just lame.

But Carson merely smiled tightly. "And you're my lamb, now shush and be still like a good boy and I won't set the wolves on you." Carson jerked his head toward the nurses running around.

Cue: idea.

"Fine, you win, Doc." Sheppard tried to look as frustrated as he could. No sense giving himself away by appearing to give too easily. "But if anything happens --"

"I'll let you know," Carson assured him. Then the doc gestured vaguely at Sheppard's mask and when Sheppard dutifully put it back in place, Carson left to deal with a scientist being helped in through the doors, a big wad of towel pressed against a bleeding head wound.

_Saved by a clumsy scientist_, Sheppard thought wryly.

OoO

He maneuvered himself through the dark corridor. A couple of times the lights had flickered only to die seconds later. With one hand, he brandished a flashlight, with the other, he held onto the wall of the corridor. Carson had done something with his crutches and making a break from the infirmary was a higher priority over finding another set of those things. He could make do without.

Sheppard gritted his teeth as another hop forward caused the throbbing to rise to a crescendo of pain, sliding like fast burning oil up his leg. _Damn it_. Right now he resented just about everyone and everything.

A litany of rants cascaded in tune to the pain. Rodney and his stupid alien booby-trapped door that'd started all of this. Ronon's blaster. Sheppard bet his P90 alone wouldn't have made that door panel explode like that.

It wasn't his fault Rodney had tripped; it was the crutches' fault.

Ronon should've put him down when Sheppard told him to.

And Teyla should've looked before she wandered underneath an open balcony like that.

Then Radek…well, Sheppard had told him something was wrong. He'd even powered it down after the first time. No one should be blaming him for that! Not that they were, necessarily, just Carson and his paranoid, mother hen –

"Colonel!"

Sheppard jumped, slamming his back against the corridor wall. Holy crap. He'd either just had a heart attack or did something disgusting in his pants.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing!"

It might've been a question, but Sheppard knew he wasn't supposed to answer. He turned his flashlight and beamed it straight at the pissed off doctor. "I'm going to help," he hissed, answering anyway. "I'm _fine_." He hadn't even coughed since he'd ducked out of the infirmary while Carson was occupied. It hadn't been easy, finding a break where the personnel were all looking the other way, but he'd bided his time and used the dim lighting to his advantage.

The city chose that moment to re-animate. The lights blared to life, the alarm wailed and with a _crackle! Hiss_, force fields slammed into place on either side of the corridor, trapping him with Carson en route to the throne room. Sheppard stared, disbelieving. Then he slumped against the wall and slid down to the floor.

What Ascended Ancient had he pissed off?

"_You, the ULS's in the corridor, what'd you do?"_

Carson looked at Sheppard and Sheppard looked at Carson and they both rolled their eyes, coming together against a common enemy.

"Rodney," Carson groaned. "_We_ didn't do anything. And just what does ULS mean?"

"_Who's 'we'? No, wait, I'm sure I can guess. It's Sheppard, isn't it? No one else could cause the city to go into quarantine. ULS – unidentified life sign. Seriously, it's Sheppard out there with you, right? Never mind, I know it is. Tell him to think 'green light' to the city. This is completely ridiculous! First, the city starts acting like it's ten years old again, and now Sheppard…"_

Sheppard reached over and yanked Carson's radio free of his ear, ignoring the doc's surprised yelp. He held the mic near his mouth and snarled, "_Sheppard_ had nothing to do with this. You're the one in the throne room, you tell it to knock it off! We're trapped in a hallway, how could I have done this?"

"_The same way you do anything with this city! Blink and look all innocent puppy eyes and she practically comes bounding across flower-carpeted fields, now…"_

Sheppard could make out swearing in the background, Ronon rumbling something along the lines of "should you be doing that" and then more swearing and Rodney snarling off-mic that of course he _shouldn't_ but there wasn't a lot of choice.

"…_damn it, Sheppard, seriously. The city's got full power for the first time in millennia and she's a little confused right now, add in the fact that there's damage in places she didn't know about, just, think to her, reassure her we're trying to help and get her to shut the quarantine off!"_

Carson snatched his radio back with a dirty look. "Why wasn't this a problem before?"

Sheppard thought, _good question_, because they'd been back for almost three weeks (and he and Ronon had been injured on their first mission since). There'd been damage during the retaking of Atlantis, but the Asurans had been kind enough to fix the worst of it before…well, Sheppard cleared his throat and redirected his thoughts to Rodney's ranting reply.

"…_a baby doesn't start off seeing clearly! Atlantis had a lot to cope with, Carson, and apparently the other systems were repaired better than the star drive. We did drop in rather unexpectedly, if you remember!"_

"How am I supposed to talk to the city?" Sheppard asked, bewildered. It wasn't like when he had the interface through the chair. This was just…sitting in the hallway. What was he supposed to do, become one with the floor?

Carson relayed his question to Rodney who returned with a gruff snap, "_Just THINK_!"

So, he did.

It was really kinda cool. He sat on the floor, put his hands against the metal surface, and thought, "_Hi_."

At first, he just felt stupid. And Carson stared expectantly only for Sheppard to shrug and almost say there was nothing, but then emotion flooded in. Holy crap, the city was pissed.

_//gone//_

_//alone//_

_//invaded!//_

_//**altered, infected**//_

Sheppard thought, _we're here to help_ and _love_ (because he did, especially the Jumpers) and he projected images of Rodney fixing damage and laboring over the city along with the others. He also tried to picture as many nice, happy, peaceful thoughts as he could.

_//scared//_

This time it was Sheppard bombarded with images. Atlantis had woken fully to her people returned, only for them to leave; the organisms the city regarded as viral overtook her, subduing her will. Then, they too were gone, and in the time since there were fragmented scenes where Atlantis tried to resurface from the suppression program the Asurans had slapped into her existence; the one they'd created to keep her from locking _them_ out of the city's systems.

He closed his eyes. Sheppard projected _we care, let us help you._

_//not hurt; recognize…you//_

The anger drifted downward. And like the time when he'd first walked through the 'gate and stepped onto the stairs, the familiar hum filled his mind now as it had then; he felt a wash of affection and longing surge.

She'd been just a presence before. Limited power, limited interaction. Now, it was like communing with a full blown spirit. She touched him and he felt far more than he ever had. Atlantis had been very lonely for a long, long time. She'd done everything she could to help them when they'd arrived, thanks in part to Janus and Alt-Elizabeth for ensuring there'd be some power left, but she'd been crippled; unable to run more than her basic subsets and still leave them with enough energy to survive and rise to the surface.

The Asurans had not been gentle. She'd suffered for her part in keeping the Asurans from what they'd felt was their ancestral right. Suppressed, and Sheppard realized that all that time since they'd been back and they hadn't known Atlantis had been affected. The power fluctuations were her frantic attempts to eradicate the last of the programming. When Sheppard had activated the chair, she'd been almost finished. Almost safe. The star drive was incomplete, the sub routines still infected by the code that kept her from coming fully to life again. The Asurans had been about to take her into space and hardly wanted Atlantis to shut them down in the process.

Sheppard's presence, the suppression program, and Atlantis' will had all collided at one painful instance.

With a macabre sense of humor, Sheppard realized he'd just added another name to his list of unintentional victims. Atlantis. If he'd waited even minutes before trying again, she'd have repaired the damage and it would've been fine.

_//memories returning; love, too; repair//_

Sheppard's face flushed. Thank God he was the only one getting this. He could hear it now: _hybrid babies, Atlantis clap, invite Chaya for a threesome_…yeah, McKay wouldn't let that one go without as many jabs as possible. And then Rodney would bring it up every chance he could get thereafter.

Sheppard cleared his throat and tried to not look embarrassed.

He opened his eyes and oh, _geez_, Carson wasn't the only one hovering now. Elizabeth and Teyla were there, which meant the force fields were down. That was good. "Uh," he tried to sound like he wasn't missing some time here, "it worked?"

Carson lifted Sheppard's wrist and fingered his pulse. "You've been in a trance-like state for thirty minutes."

"_Is he awake yet?" _

"Yes, he just came to," Elizabeth replied to Rodney. "Has the power stabilized?"

"_That would be a yes. And look, now you can't take any of the ZPM's to pawn off to everyone else! The city's sentient. So…"_

"Rodney, we'll talk about this later. Finish up; Carson wants everyone back in the infirmary for a check-up." Elizabeth nodded at the doctor in question and straightened away from Sheppard, looking relieved. "Well," she said, "crisis number forty-eight averted, hmmm?"

"I'd like to point out, I was never _really_ unconscious." Sheppard tried to look as awake as possible and not at all disoriented from losing thirty minutes communing with a sentient city that _loved_ him.

Shame no one ever listened to him.

Except the city.

**Addendum**: I know, I know! So much still left hanging. Where's Lorne, what about that overdue report, and now the city! Hang with me, nothing's been dropped, it's still to come. There'll be a little more time advancement to come in the next chapter. Hope you're still having fun!


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: **holy cow, I'm back from the land of the unproductive writing death. Aside from a harried RL, this chapter gave me a lot of trouble, but here's my best effort. One more chapter to go. There's going to be some new completed fics showing up, a released zine fic being one of them. Thanks for not lynching me even though I probably deserve it! Thanks Linzi for being incredibly patient, beta'ing part and waiting days longer than promised for the rest!

ETA my special strike through characters did not show up, sorry guys, I've written in where it was supposed to be, that's the best I can do on here I think!**  
**

**Chapter seven**

Subject: PLEASE TALK SENSE INTO ELIZABETH

From: rodneymckayatlantisnetwork.civ.sci

Date: 9/18/2006 11:16 PM

To: johnsheppardatlantisnetwork.af.mil

Seriously, Sheppard, you can't let her do this! She's farming out your _girlfriend's_ parts; doesn't that bug you?

**Rodney McKay, PhD, Chief Scientist, Atlantis **

Sheppard scrubbed a tired hand over his eyes and sighed. Then he hit delete. Then he went to DELETED MAIL, and hit delete again, eradicating all seventeen emails he'd received today. From Rodney. About Elizabeth harvesting two of the three ZPM's.

You know, he got Rodney's frustration. He really did. But Atlantis had assured Sheppard that one fully-charged ZPM would let her maintain her sentience. If the city understood the need, why couldn't Rodney? The Ori hadn't gone after the Ancients before because they hadn't been strong enough, but if they conquered the Milky Way, got all those people worshipping, they'd get juiced, and then what was going to stop them from an All You Can Eat buffet of Ancients? That'd leave the universe at the Ori's mercy, and that universe included the Pegasus galaxy and Atlantis.

The clock in the bottom right-hand corner of his laptop read 21:45 and that meant he was up too late. Sheppard hit compose mail, thought about it for a moment, then decided it wasn't worth the hassle. If he replied to Rodney, it'd just make the guy think that Sheppard was actually _reading_ these emails and then they'd _never_ stop.

Don't feed the bears. Makes them come back for more.

Wearily, he pushed away from his desk and hoped like heck Carson hadn't followed through on his threatened bed check.

In the days since the explosion in the throne room, the doc had taken his power trip to extremes. He'd harangued Teyla, Rodney, Elizabeth and Sheppard back into his clutches, insisting on a 24-hour observation for everyone.

Then there'd been lectures on possible complications of smoke inhalation; Rodney had been signed off for light duty but that was only because Carson knew with all that had happened, he'd never manage to keep Rodney on quarters for even another hour, let alone a day or more. Teyla had left with a bottle of Tylenol and Ronon had been the only smart one in all of them. After Sheppard had gotten Atlantis to lift quarantine, he'd gone straight from the throne room and stayed hidden until Carson got past his overcompensation syndrome. He'd felt sorry for Radek, the only one who hadn't escaped after the first day.

Sheppard had been told to stay in his room, or his office, for the sake of _everyone_ else. As if it were his fault that people were getting hurt all around him. It really wasn't. Coincidence. That was all. But just to be safe, he'd done it anyway.

Soft footsteps and a knock on his open door registered at the same time. "Colonel, did I miss you having a bed moved in here?"

His hand hovered in the air near his crutches. "I'm going right now, Doc."

Carson moved fully into Sheppard's office, scowling at the empty paper coffee cups and a plate with half a doughnut. "Colonel, I --"

"They were Rodney's," Sheppard lied smoothly, remembering the lecture on diet and healing He felt a little guilty for throwing Rodney to the wolves like that, but Carson probably wouldn't risk going after Rodney for fear of the man's acerbic tongue, pain-sharpened as it was. He took a hold of the crutches and managed to stand without wincing. His foot was actually starting to feel better. Guess there was something to be said for staying off it, but he sure as heck wouldn't be admitting it to anyone. "He stopped by earlier, tried to convince me to intervene on Atlantis' behalf, _again_."

"And I'm supposed to believe you?" Carson asked skeptically.

Well, it would've been nice… "Look, Doc, I've been a good boy," Sheppard insisted, his lips curling wryly, "Stayed off my feet, stayed in my quarters or my office --"

"And you can rest assured those of us still standing appreciate it."

"Funny; taking lessons from Rodney?" Sheppard turned his attention away from Carson and grappled some more with his crutches. He was tired and bored, and not in the mood to put up with more crap. Regardless of the rumors, he wasn't jinxed. Stupid. Superstitious nonsense. And it didn't help his mood that Rodney seemed to be the worst offender in spreading the rumor.

"No, actually --"

"You really did come to escort me to bed," Sheppard accused irritably. Glaring, he hop-thunked toward the door and Carson.

"Actually, I --"

"I don't know what it is with you people. Just because I happen to have been involved in a few accidents, and possibly a run of bad luck," Sheppard pushed awkwardly past Carson, "doesn't mean I need babysitting."

Sheppard's arm was grabbed, causing him to unbalance. Something cold and metal was shoved into his palm and as he managed to steady himself in the doorway, startled, he looked up to find Carson returning an irritated grimace of his own. "Medic alert dog tags; congratulations, Colonel, wear them in place of your other pair so a new medic doesn't mistakenly kill you when he treats you offworld." Carson pushed himself around Sheppard's body and muttered as he left, "Damn stubborn fool, probably throw them in your room and die of anaphylactic shock in less than a year."

"Hey! I heard that!" Sheppard shouted grumpily.

OoO

0135. Damn. Sheppard rubbed his eyes tiredly and blinked at the screen. He really should be asleep, but Elizabeth had sent another pointed email, bordering on nastygram, about a certain delayed report. And there was something in there that if it didn't show up by 0700 tomorrow morning, he just might possibly be put to the front rotation for babysitting duty.

He'd told Rodney he couldn't get out of this, but he still felt bad. For both of them.

"Planet Boom, you suck," he breathed, while punching at his laptop keys.

_-- THE LEADER, Saga, said any who wished to travel through the sacred lands would have to take a "Test of Worth." I was assured the test was harmless. _

_For the record, harmless is a qualified statement. Doctor Beckett assured us no permanent damage was done to our hearing, but as noted before, Doctor McKay suffered psychological trauma that took weeks to resolve. _

Sheppard looked guiltily at the screen. There had to be a way to write this without embarrassing either of them. But it'd been a long day and staring blearily at this screen for even another minute was pushing things. Let alone asking himself to be creative. He looked at the clock, again. 0145.

_The test was a combination of musical, artistic, and critical thinking knowledge. Initially, our opinion was that we'd do fine. In fact, I believe Doctor McKay's words were, "Point us to the sacred lands and save everyone the trouble." _

_strike throughIn typical "screw the Atlanteans" style end strike through__ What we didn't know, however, was that the test was based completely upon the Mythian's knowledge, which was inaccurate and at odds with strike through__direct quote from Doctor McKay "Completely asinine, false, wrong, did they pull these answers out of their asses?"end strike through__ every facet of education that we have ever had in our lives. For example, we were given a color chart and asked to identify the colors. What we call green is their red. Flat to us is round to them. Everything was __strike throughass backwards__end strike through backwards._

_Failing a test, in itself, __strike throughis damaging enough to Doctor McKay's fragile egoend strike through __was difficult enough, but the testing center was an acoustically powerful chamber meant to amplify sound, with a round clay-like dome. __strike throughActually, it was kind of cool, if you remember the history about that clay pot where they think they heard Jesus commanding Lazarus to rise from the dead.end strike through __For every wrong answer delivered, a large brass cymbal was whacked, causing a painful burst of noise. Adding to the frustration, we were timed, with less than ten seconds to respond. And not every answer was the opposite, such as flat to round (we tried thatstrike through, __duhend strike through). _

"For the record, I hate you," Sheppard grunted at the report.

The lights groaned pitifully, dimming momentarily in a brown-out. He frowned at the ceiling and raised his hand to tap his comm when his door chimed. Sheppard glanced again at the clock. 0200. Whoever it was, he had a hunch their arrival and the power fluctuation were related. He looked at his crutches and rolled his eyes. Forget it. "Come in," he called, forgoing even moving.

Radek burst in, out of breath. "Colonel, you must come!"

"What's wrong?" The report was instantly forgotten, his fatigue rolled off him, replaced by an instant alertness. He was already reaching for his crutches when Radek's rapid explanation made him swear harder.

"It's Rodney – he's trying to smuggle one of the ZPM's; you must talk sense into his crazy mind! I would have called you on radio, but he is listening."

"Rodney, you _idiot_," Sheppard snarled, "is that why the power's on the fritz?"

Radek nodded, rushing into the hall. "He's delusional, sloppy, making mess in throne room and with Atlantis' controls," the scientist explained, using hand gestures for emphasis. He threw a look over his shoulder, to see if Sheppard was understanding _and_ following Radek out the door. Of course, Sheppard was. He'd been multitasking since he could toddle. Running and laughing, drinking juice and climbing – okay, that one had been a bad idea, and thankfully the chipped tooth had fallen out when he was six – anyway, the point was, Sheppard could do more than one thing at a time, and he was lumbering after Radek on crutches and already thinking about possible scenarios under which Rodney would have lost his freaking _mind_.

Behind him, in the now empty abandoned room, the laptop cursor blinked forlornly in place and the medic alert tags lay forgotten in a heap underneath the cone of light from the desk lamp.

OoO

Which is how, an hour later, it came to be that he was standing in the ZPM room, his 9 mil pointed at Rodney -- hey, he wasn't _really_ gonna shoot him -- and Elizabeth, Carson, Radek, Ronon, Teyla and Lorne, were spread out around him, with McKay a few feet away, one ZPM clutched tightly against his chest and a look of utter defiance painted across his face.

"No one wanted to listen! I'm sorry, Elizabeth, but desperate times calls for desperate measures," Rodney snapped, his free hand pointing a gun right back at Sheppard.

"Are you nuts?" Sheppard had in the past wondered occasionally, but this was the first overt action that made him shift uneasy eyes towards Carson and mouth _sedate him_.

Radek threw his hands in the air. "Of course he's nuts, he's holding ZPM hostage!"

This situation was officially off the rails. Sheppard had arrived with Radek to find Rodney had already removed one of the three, the other two partially disconnected in the process. He'd tried to reason with the man, only for Rodney to insist he was just going to hide it away until after the Daedalus left. Then he'd 'find' it and there'd be no harm, no foul.

After Sheppard had pointed out to Rodney that Elizabeth might just be a little suspicious of a ZPM suddenly going missing, Rodney had pulled a gun on Sheppard and ordered them to back off. That was when Sheppard had swallowed his irritation, pulled his own weapon that was still resting in his thigh holster since yesterday, and commed for help, because whatever was going on, it wasn't good.

Nanobugs…it had to be nanobugs, or something equally creepy, because Rodney might be a little eccentric, egotistical and arrogant, but he wasn't _insane_. Wait…no, not nanobugs, because Atlantis would've quarantined McKay's infected ass. Exposure then, to something making him _act_ like he was insane. Or maybe nanobugs wasn't totally out as Atlantis wasn't exactly functioning at full power.

"I thought I told you to stay away from the colonel, Rodney," Carson lectured tightly.

Sheppard threw Carson a mixed look of disgust and disbelief. "This is not my fault." Then he shifted self-consciously and added, "Besides, he's not bleeding or concussed." So, maybe there had been certain…patterns, and he wasn't saying he was to blame, but you know, other injuries that might have happened in his presence had always been things like a bump on the head, a slightly broken wrist --

Rodney's face twisted. "I _did_; do I look stupid to you? I've avoided his plague-bearing jinxed --" His casted arm twitched.

Ronon chuckled softly until a sharp elbow in his stomach caused him to choke; Sheppard felt just a small twinge of guilt at the knee brace. Teyla smiled sweetly before turning to look at Rodney. "Perhaps we should discuss this without weapons pointed at one another?"

"I'm with her," Lorne agreed. "Conducting negotiations at gunpoint has this annoying habit of ending badly."

But Carson was glaring at Sheppard now. "That's funny; Colonel Sheppard told me you were in his office earlier today. Colonel, if Rodney's been infected by some virus, or exposed to some mind-altering substance, then your behavior could also be erratic and I think you should give Major Lorne your weapon."

Sheppard cleared his throat. How come these things always came back to bite him in the ass? "Uh, yeah, about that Doc, I sort of," he scratched his free hand through his hair -- not as easy as it sounds because balancing his crutches under his armpits wasn't exactly stable, "might've…"

"Lied," Carson added dangerously.

Elizabeth's eyebrow arched upward, wry disbelief that her head of military would stoop to such behavior. The wry part – that's because she knew that when faced with certain _medical_ situations, lying was very much in Sheppard's realm of, "occasionally, okay things to do that otherwise weren't really a good idea."

"So where'd he get infected?" Ronon asked, looking sideways from Rodney to Sheppard.

"I'm not infected!" Rodney protested. "Or exposed! I'm _completely_ rational."

Lorne snorted. "Doc, just go with it. Under the influence is better than suicidally stupid."

"Doctor McKay is many things," Teyla interrupted stiffly, "but stupid is not one of them."

"Like I said, under the influence." Lorne shrugged.

"Wait a moment," Carson murmured, "if he was infected, Atlantis would have quarantined him at the moment of exposure, before he could reach the throne room. That limits what we're dealing with – exposure is more likely, some kind of chemical, maybe. Rodney, where've you been today? What have you eaten? Did you go to any unexplored rooms?"

McKay's gun wavered downward and he regarded Carson with a jaundiced look. "Why is it that everyone assumes I've lost my mind when for the first time in my life, I'm doing what needs to be done, regardless of how short-sighted the little people are --"

"Excuse me," Elizabeth said brittlely, "short-sighted little people?"

"Exactly," emphasized Rodney with his pistol.

Sheppard considered their options, _again_. Couldn't stun him. Dropping a ZPM was too big a risk. Couldn't talk sense into him, been there, tried that. Couldn't shoot him. Lorne and Radek were whispering, Elizabeth and Teyla, still trying to plead sense into Rodney, while Ronon was glowering. Pissed off, Sheppard knew, because no one would let him stun McKay.

Lorne nodded at something Radek said and they looked at Sheppard. He had a hunch his 2IC and Radek might've come up with a plan, judging from their hooded glances. The trick would be figuring it out without letting one crazed McKay in on the punchline. There wasn't any sidling subtly over with his crutches and bum foot. "Elizabeth," Sheppard said loudly, "maybe it's time to negotiate."

Her eyes glittered. "Of course," she said smoothly. "If you think that's wise, who am I to go against your recommendation." They passed stilted looks; Elizabeth thought she was being cute, Sheppard just figured she was getting back at him for all those times he'd ignored her and did it his way. His foot throbbed a reminder of his most recent headstrong moment. Yeah, so maybe he should act less and listen more, but that'd never been one of his strengths.

But at 0300 hours and some change, shivering because he'd rushed down here after Radek with just his black t-shirt and pants and barefoot, he was willing to give it a go. Lorne muttered quietly, "Radek thinks he can get the door behind McKay open; we need to get a security crew positioned to grab him from behind, disarm him and get that ZPM from him."

Sheppard nodded. "Do it."

Which was why less than ten minutes later, it was a complete surprise when the ground disappeared underneath their feet.

OoO

"I don't think that was the back door," Lorne deadpanned.

"Really? The sewage clued you in?" Sheppard bitched. "Or the twenty-foot fall?"

This was ridiculous. Who knew there was an oscillating floor that opened up to the sewage system below? He didn't. His 9 mil was now somewhere in the murky, foul liquid they were all drenched, waist-deep in, and still, Rodney was clinging to the stolen ZPM as if his life depended on it (though he'd lost his gun, too, in the fall).

Lorne had given his flashlight over to Elizabeth, providing the only dim light in the room. Sheppard noticed that Rodney's white cast now bore a disquieting resemblance to the filthy water, and he had to fight the urge to pull his foot up and look at his healing toe. Because he'd ripped the stitches running down stairs a week ago, the incision wasn't totally healed. Sheppard had three more days of antibiotics, so maybe the medicine in his system would ward off the germs swimming happily around their legs.

Ronon was limping worse than before. The fall had been just far enough, that even with the water, it hadn't exactly felt good on any of their injuries. Radek's butterfly strip clung persistently to his forehead, just above his left eyebrow, remnants of the explosion days ago; it was still holding despite getting wet. Teyla's face looked pinched and pained, but she'd insisted she was fine.

Carson was unconscious. He'd hit his head against the edge of something as they'd fallen, and was blissfully ignorant of the less than ideal situation they found themselves in, and Sheppard, with his lame foot and no crutches, was relegated to supporting Carson and leaning against the wall, having visions of Luke Skywalker being yanked under a layer of garbage and water by some sewer monster.

Ronon and Teyla were trying to reach someone on the radio, anyone, but interference seemed to be the order of the day. Radek and Elizabeth were still trying to piece together via interrogating Rodney, just how he'd managed to become insane in the span of about ten hours; that was roughly the last time Radek could guess that McKay had definitely been himself. And even that estimate was grudgingly given. Radek's first guess had been something like, "At birth?" but maybe Radek's headache was making him unusually surly, Sheppard thought generously.

"Simpson or someone or another, is gonna try and get us out of here, but they're still trying to get power restored," Ronon said, slouching against the wall by Sheppard. "How's the doc?" The runner nudged his head toward the body in Sheppard's arms.

"Limp," Sheppard replied dryly. He frowned then shifted his attention to Radek; the scientist approached, cringing in distaste as the sludge splashed with his movements. "Get anything from Rodney?" Sheppard could see Elizabeth and Teyla still trying to talk the ZPM out of Rodney's tight grasp. At least he wasn't armed anymore. Sheppard figured they might as well let the man cling to his toy now. Wasn't like Rodney was going anywhere with it.

Radek ran an absent-minded hand through his hair before disgustedly realizing he'd just wiped sewer water across his head in the process. He cursed sharply then said, "No, but I did get interesting tidbit from Miko. We think he was exposed to possibly one or more chemicals earlier this morning. Nyerson discovered small canisters two days ago. He says he left them in Rodney's lab to get cleared for further research. They are looking in database now to see what might have been in them, but whatever the cause, there _was_ alarm activated in Rodney's lab around 10 hundred. It seems he was able to quickly override—"

"—any safety protocol," Sheppard interjected, grimacing.

A ghosted smile played across Radek's mouth. "The good news is that it appears exposure is limited, but I would not get too close to Rodney right now."

Ronon snorted. "How close is too close?"

"I would not get close enough to smell him."

"The only thing I'm smelling is --."

"Okay, we know..." Sheppard fidgeted, trying to get Carson's bulk off his chest. The doc was a deadweight. "Probably not contagious then, that's the only good news I've heard so far."

"I don't know," Ronon grinned, "this has been kinda fun."

"Ronon, he had a gun on me!"

"So? You had one on him." The runner looked unimpressed.

Sheppard pursed his lips together. "He could've shot me," he said through clenched teeth. Damn, his foot was starting to hurt like a mother, aching from the chilly water. His crutches were permanently abandoned somewhere under the dirty water and it'd be a cold day in hell before he got down and started searching. His imagination was enough; he sure as heck didn't want to actually _touch_ something.

Ronon didn't look all that worried. "It's McKay, Sheppard. He would've only shot you if he'd been trying to miss."

They were interrupted by a shout and looked up just in time to see Rodney swing at Elizabeth, connect solidly with her jaw, and watch as the leader of Atlantis folded to the ground. No sooner had her head disappeared under the water, then Teyla dropped and started grabbing frantically, quickly pulling Elizabeth back to the surface, and thankfully, the flashlight, too.

Radek's mouth suspended, wide open. Sheppard groaned; someone's head was so gonna roll for this, and he had a sinking suspicion it'd be his. Ronon whistled, "That's gotta hurt."

OoO

"This is really gross," Rodney complained.

"This is really your fault," Sheppard retorted.

Three hours and six broken, static-filled radio calls with Simpson later and they had confirmation from two apologetic scientists in biology that yes, Rodney had accidentally released the contents of one canister. Apparently, it was a chemical that affected one's inhibitions. Normally, the rational part of the mind would keep someone from acting impulsively, doing something stupid and reckless, such as stealing a ZPM, but under the influence of this substance, the rational side of Rodney McKay's brain had taken a prolonged vacation. And his base desires surfaced in the form of a ZPM abduction. Sheppard chuckled to himself. And McKay had been worried about the report over planet boom being embarrassing. This incident would make that look like a walk in the proverbial dignity park.

Also, finding the release mechanism for the sewer tank under the ZPM room – not so easy when the two top-Atlantis scientists were unavailable to help and Atlantis was reluctantly sleeping in a power deprived state. Rodney was at least himself again, albeit lethargic and a little muddled. Unfortunately, his recovery was a little late, as now they were trapped in a sewer with a hung-over Rodney, a concussed Carson and a pissed Elizabeth, sporting a blossoming bruise and a sore jaw.

Sheppard fought down a satisfied smirk; no one could lay the blame for this at his feet. He'd been in his room, and his office, minding his own business all day. He'd had absolutely nothing to do with Rodney's exposure. They could take their jinx insinuations and shove 'em --

"What are you laughing at? This isn't funny!" Rodney glared at a ripple in the water caused by Ronon tossing a small object. "And you, knock that off, you can't skip powerbars. You're wasting good food, food, I remind you, that we might need."

"I'm not laughing," Sheppard promised.

Ronon, staring challengingly at Rodney, peeled open another power bar and positioned it in his fingers like Sheppard had shown him how to do with small flat stones, before flicking it away. He hobbled to the side, twisting to frisk his pockets for more, pointedly scowling at Rodney while he did so.

"Rodney," Elizabeth pleaded, "there has to be an access panel in this room."

"Sure there is." All eyes swung to stare at the scientist. He rolled his eyes irritably and pointed at the ceiling. "Up there. Although it's not so much an access panel as cutting through the metal to expose the wiring…"

"Pyramid," Lorne suggested. "If cheerleaders can do it, we should be able to." He looked at Sheppard and Ronon. "Ronon can be an anchor since he weighs the most --"

"Are you saying I'm fat?" Ronon stared dangerously at Lorne.

Lorne sputtered, "No, that's not what I meant, it's just, well, you're a lot taller and broader --"

Ronon chuckled and slapped Lorne's shoulders, hard. "Just kidding."

Carson groaned against Sheppard's chest. Their eyes turned towards the rousing doctor's face, watching as he blinked confusedly into the dimness, pulled up short and stared at the circular room, the water, his friends staring at him. "What happened?" he asked, baffled.

"Sheppard's jinx struck again," Rodney replied.

"Where are we?" Carson struggled to stand. "Why are we standing in water?" His nose wrinkled. "Bloody hell, what is that _smell_?"

Teyla moved in, taking Carson's arm, steadying him. "Radek meant to open a door behind Rodney, but instead activated an opening under our feet. We believe it was a latent security measure, in case the throne room was captured. Unfortunately, as this was meant to trap, we have yet to find a way out. They are trying to free us now, but I am afraid for the time being we are stuck in what appears to be a sewage chamber."

"And for the record, I had _nothing_ to do with this," Sheppard said.

Rodney snorted.

"How can you possibly blame this one on me? I didn't get exposed to a mind-altering substance and take a ZPM hostage, and trust me, dropping us into the sewer was not --"

Radek threw his hands up. "I was merely trying to end stalemate; you do not blame this on me! I did not point a gun at anyone!"

"No one is blaming anyone, Doc," Lorne soothed.

"Speak for yourself," Rodney grumped.

"Gentlemen," Elizabeth remonstrated stiffly, because her jaw made talking painful and _possibly_ she was pissed, "assigning blame, while satisfying," she glared at Rodney and Sheppard, "is childish and unproductive. I suggest we focus on finding a solution to our situation."

"The pyramid idea is a good one," Ronon added. "But what's a cheerleader?"

Teyla's lips thinned. "An object of sexual--"

"Hey, whoa," Rodney interrupted, "they perform valuable services." His forehead wrinkled. "Although, an appallingly pitiful lack of intelligence is required."

Carson moaned and lurched in Teyla's hold. "I don't feel so good. The smell is making me nauseous."

"I think that's your concussion," Sheppard said helpfully.

"And the smell," Ronon grunted.

When Carson began puking, Sheppard looked upward. "So, that pyramid thing – ready Ronon? You sure your leg can support us?" The runner just looked at Sheppard like he was stupid. Sheppard smiled tightly. "Fair enough. Let's do this."

Less than five minutes later, Sheppard was climbing on Ronon's shoulders, the runner's weapon tucked in Sheppard's waistband for him to hand up to Rodney when he was in position. He'd stripped off the walking boot Carson had made him wear, trying to get a better grip with his foot. It'd been mostly healed, right? Luckily, Carson was too busy fighting off another wave of sickness to raise a fuss. Lorne was standing next to Ronon and Sheppard had to use Elizabeth and Radek to help steady himself while scaling the two men, balancing a foot on each of their shoulders. Rodney was going to then climb all of them to reach the ceiling.

Rodney cautioned him the whole way. "This is a bad idea. If I accidentally cut through the wiring we'll never get out of here. Don't fall! Ronon, you okay? Conan? You're looking a little red there. Sheppard, I think Ronon's going to--"

"Shut up, McKay!" everyone snapped in unison.

He did, but that was only because Sheppard was soon in position and it was time for McKay to begin climbing.

"God damn it, that's my face, McKay!" A stiff fiberglass-clad arm being wrapped around his neck and head wasn't comfortable.

"I'm sorry! There's only so much to grab onto and if you didn't notice, I'm injured here! Your hair, while possibly being registered as a potential weapon, is not exactly a lifeline!"

"Just get up there and start cutting," Sheppard gritted.

His toe ached abominably now, forced to curl reflexively around the natural slope of a human shoulder in order to help keep his balance. As Rodney's knee boxed his ear, Sheppard slammed his eyes shut and tried not to think murderous longing thoughts about his missing gun. Radek had said using Ronon's blaster to get through the walls was a bad idea. It was eerily reminiscent of another situation so Sheppard had told Ronon they'd wait. But the urge was tempting. And growing bigger and bigger with every dig of boot into his skin and bump and knock against his head. He cursed as Rodney's heel ground into his collar bone.

"I can't see a thing!" Rodney panted. "This is a miserable idea."

Elizabeth, now holding the ZPM along with the flashlight, called up, "Just do your best, Rodney!"

The support under Sheppard's feet began to waver. "Ronon?"

"Sorry," the runner grunted. And sniffed. Then sneezed, and suddenly Ronon's bum leg folded, Sheppard was falling, Rodney yelping above him. He had a moment to think _this is gonna hurt_ before he hit the refuse water and went under.

OoO

"I told you it was a stupid idea."

"Ronon, get out your blaster."

Teyla glared balefully at Sheppard and Ronon. "Is that not what began the unfortunate chain of events that landed us here?"

Sheppard exhaled and counted to ten. He'd had his fall mitigated by sewer water. If everything had been lucky in Sheppard's world, he would've rose up without even a bruise, but it'd already been established that his luck was a crap shoot, and so he wound up breaking Rodney's fall. He'd seen stars, swallowed nasty water, been hauled up by Ronon and mauled by Carson before he'd managed to stop choking.

Carson had muttered, "You'll be needing antibiotic therapy, just in case. And where's your new dog tags? Don't know why it surprises me. Why are we still trapped? Torch a bloody hole in the floor up there and toss down a rope. I'm not a rocket scientist and even I can figure it out."

"Oh, right, and the brilliant minds above just happened to forget such a simple solution," Rodney snapped scornfully. "Besides, we have a general aversion to maiming and mutilating the city."

"Well, why can't they? The floor's not torch-proof, is it?" Lorne considered it. "A scarred floor is better than losing the command staff to mutant infections caused by exposure to…" they all looked uncomfortably at the water eddying around their bodies.

Radek and Rodney shared a look. Radek murmured faintly, "The solution is much like blowing up door – clumsy and brutal – they would be working on controls, looking for open and close once power was restored. Simple and --"

"—stupid wouldn't have occurred to them," Sheppard grimaced.

"Think outside the box, Doc," Lorne suggested wryly. "Not always elegant, but it gets the job done."

"Teyla, try to get through," Elizabeth ordered, "maybe we can get more than static sometime _before_ we all turn into prunes."

The problem was, as they soon found out, that static seemed to be the order of the day. Whatever had been clinging to functionality earlier, allowing for the broken communications, had completely given over to irreparability. After a few frustrated attempts, walking around the room with sloshing, tired steps, Teyla gave up. "I am sorry," she said to Elizabeth, "but I can no longer get through."

"Shit," Sheppard swore, not missing the surprised looks shot his way. Normally, he didn't completely let his irritation show, but it was approaching six in the morning, he hadn't slept, his toe just felt wrong, he'd inhaled sewage, Carson was concussed and still managing to hover in between bouts of slinking off to retch surreptitiously – _gotta say, Doc, not working that well_ – and all in all, this was about as FUBAR as it got.

Mix in a cranky, unknown substance hung-over Rodney McKay, not sure whether to complain about his arm or his headache, an irritable Elizabeth, thanks to her bruised face and possible inhaled sewage status as well (when she'd gone down like a rock earlier), a Ronon who had seemed to be enjoying this far too much until his knee had given out and now had fallen into a sullen silence, propped against the wall, Lorne, who had seemed to keep his cool far easier and longer than Sheppard (which annoyed the hell out of him) and a nonplussed Teyla…well, can you blame him for being pissy? Sheppard figured if ever he had a right, this was as good of a time as any – and really, blasting the wall was looking better and better every minute.

"The wall's not booby-trapped," Sheppard offered reasonably.

Radek was slumped next to Ronon. He didn't even bother lifting his head. "It will possibly ricochet, kill us all. Bad idea, Colonel."

Ronon leaned over and said, "The little man gives up too easily."

The 'little man' bristled. "Fine. Shoot first, die later. Is no skin off my neck."

"Nose," Carson corrected.

Radek scowled and muttered a Czech curse.

"Look, they've had two hours. Ronon, give me your gun." If it ricocheted, they'd duck.

"Ronon, you give him that gun, and I'm tackling your ass," Lorne threatened, momentarily losing his façade of calm demeanor. Then he looked as respectfully as he could at Sheppard and added, "Sir."

"You could try," Ronon said evenly.

Call it prophetic timing or fate finally taking pity on him, but that was when the ceiling telescoped halfway open, spilling bright light painfully down on them. A concerned voice called down, "Doctor Weir? Colonel Sheppard? We're throwing down a ladder rope, do you need anything else?"

Elizabeth breathed out softly, looking heavenward. "No, no that's fine. Thank you." She smiled mockingly at Sheppard. "I guess you don't get to blow anything up today, John. Sorry, maybe next time."

His lips twitched and he fought down a pained smile. "You're just saying that to make me feel better."

"Break it up, kids," Rodney bullied between them, "I've got a ZPM to re-install."

"Rodney, you know that ZPM, along with the other, are scheduled to leave Atlantis in two hours."

"Elizabeth, has nothing I said gotten through to you? Did you even bother to read my power usage vs. apocalypse scenario? Honestly, if we're barraged by twenty hive ships then --"

OoO

Sheppard drowsed in the infirmary bed, staring through half-lidded eyes at the staff moving around, doing their infirmary things. Checking Elizabeth's IV drip, bringing Rodney another jug of ice water. Radek and Ronon battled over a game of skipbo, Teyla and Lorne discussed the twice-postponed training mission and Carson was pulling rank on a nurse, despite being flat on his back in a bed next to Sheppard.

The water had been positive for a couple of nasty germs and for precautionary reasons --that had caused more than a few angry exclamations -- the entire bunch of them had been confined to the infirmary and placed on broad spectrum IV antibiotics…except Sheppard.

Thanks to his newly discovered allergy -- and with punctuated loud scoldings from Carson on this being a perfect example of why he told Sheppard to put those dog tags on -- he was put on a different, non-penicillin cocktail. The side effects had made him queasy, and after he'd told Keller for the fifth time that he was fine, Carson had exploded, "He's bloody green! Give the colonel an anti-emetic, whether he says he needs it or not!"

Which was why he was drifting in and out, lazily, lethargically watching everyone, but being far too sleepy to participate.

His foot was back in a walking boot and the one positive was the news that he could go crutch free when they were done with the antibiotic therapy. Ronon had his knee re-strapped and was on another round of anti-inflammatories. Rodney sported a new, clean cast. All in all, there was progress. Radek's wound was butterfly strip-free and Carson's concussion was declared mild. Elizabeth's jaw wasn't broken, and despite rumblings that Carson and Elizabeth had been the latest victims of Sheppard's jinx, they had fared well considering the other _rumored_ victims – rumored because Sheppard still insisted none of the above was his fault.

It was while he drifted in that drugged fog, that things got hazy. A nurse leaned over him and asked, "Colonel, I need you to look at me. No, don't close your eyes! Doctor Keller!"

"Tired," Sheppard slurred, trying to defend his right to sleep.

Cold hands pressed against his cheek. "He's burning up," Keller said. "Carson, stay in that bed or I'm strapping you to it!"

When they tried to take his blanket, Sheppard figured they'd gone too far. He might have tried to punch someone. He was kinda tired though, which explained why he missed. "G'way," he grumped and tried to roll away.

"All right, Colonel," Keller soothed, pulling him persistently back around, "we'll leave you be just as soon as we get your temperature down."

"Just hit him on the head," Rodney suggested. "He's really cooperative when he's stunned. Ask Ronon."

"What's that supposed to mean, McKay?"

"Genius, here. Do you really need me to remind you how many times you've stunned Sheppard?"

"Rodney," Teyla sighed, "I do not think that is necessary. Doctor, is John going to be all right?"

"I think…so. The anti – Colonel! The antibiotic we've got him on--"

Sheppard wondered sluggishly why she sounded out of breath and as if she were struggling with something. But his wondering didn't stop him from trying to curl up and away from the persistent hands tugging at his arms, shoulders and, "God damn it, leave my blanket alone," he bitched pathetically, " 'm _tired_." In fact, the burst of irritably just about drained what was left of his energy reserves. Geez.

A harried sigh sounded above him. "You …didn't tell me…GET HIS ARM! … slippery than a greased pig – check Doctor Weir, if this is from inhaling the water, she might be--"

"Oh, bloody hell, I'm helping whether you want it or not," Carson stated firmly.

Then Sheppard was staring confusedly up into blue eyes and the familiar patient, grim expression. "Colonel, you're a disaster on two legs," he said softly.

"Doc?" Sheppard reached a clumsy hand, grabbing Carson's shirt. "What're you wearing scrubs for?"

"He's jinxed himself. Unbelievable," Rodney said, alarmed and a little surprised.

"If a jinx jinxes themselves, does that nullify the jinx?" Radek wondered aloud.

Teyla cleared her throat. "I do not believe this is the time to discuss who may or may not be jinxed."

"Doctor Keller," a nurse called. "Doctor Weir's temperature is normal."

"I feel fine," Elizabeth added. "Maybe he's sick because of the different antibiotics? They're not as effective, didn't you say?"

Carson patted Sheppard's sweaty shoulder. "Aye, that's probably it. We'll have to try some different drugs. It's not unexpected, though we'd hoped --"

"Does this mean the training mission is delayed again?" Lorne asked hopefully.

"I get the feeling you're afraid of me," Ronon said.

"Not you," Lorne muttered, "that blaster of yours."

Sheppard was getting a headache from the noise. He decided his quarters would be a lot quieter. He finally relinquished his blanket and tried to sit up. Two things happened that he didn't expect. One, his muscles gave out about halfway up, and he slipped sideways. Then, surprised shouts of, "Colonel, lay down!" and "He's really delirious, isn't he?" and "Carson, fix him!"

"You're bugging me," Sheppard announced crossly.

"We're sorry," Keller apologized, sounding like a bemused mother soothing a child that'd just been tricked into going to the doctor's office for a booster shot. "We're going to let you sleep, promise. Just--"

"—close your eyes, Colonel," Carson said. "We'll take care of you."

"Good," Sheppard mumbled. " 'cause I'm really tired and it's been a long day. They don't pay me enough for this shit."

Lorne snorted loudly and Elizabeth asked, "Did he just say --"

"Wow," Rodney breathed. "He's a lot more open when he's sick and drugged, isn't he? And Carson said I was loose lips."

"Rodney, you will not tell him about this when he recovers," Teyla threatened.

"Oh, come _on_, why ever not! You think he wouldn't rub it in if it were me?"

Radek suggested quietly, "I'd wait until after the cursed training mission."

Elizabeth growled, "It's not cursed. No _one_ or _thing_ is cursed, jinxed, hexed, or anything else like it! Honestly, I expected better from my science staff!"

The last thing Sheppard heard was a startled Rodney asking, "Seriously, because I thought you knew me better than that?" then Sheppard was slipping away into the soft sleep Carson and that other doctor, Keller, had promised him. It was a lot quieter in there. And not as hot. Though there were a lot of weird things bouncing around in his mind. Dancing crutches, exploding doors, and lots of brass gongs hanging threateningly in the air.


End file.
